Forbidden Lies
by ka0ri-chan
Summary: HPCCS 7th year AU. Harry employs the Li Clan to help aid him in his search for the rest of the Horcruxes. Unfortunately, like all things related to Harry Potter, things are bound to go spiraling out of control.
1. Some people have all the luck

**Chapter One**

_Some people have all the luck_

**Rewritten By Kaori**

X

Invisible winds tackled into the cherry blossom trees. Fragile petals whirled about, enchanting the world in pink snow. Just as suddenly, the petals wafted down limply to the pavement as the winds calmed down to a gentle breeze. The moment a single petal touched the gravel, pink electric waves rapidly erupted from petal to petal, sparking to life like turbulent lighting. Like puppets attached by veiled threads, the petals ascended again, circling around the four cloaked figures. Beneath them an array glowed, as if burnt into the concrete with neon chemicals.

"You have some nerve summoning us," the feminine voice was filled with disdain.

The bespectacled teenage boy stared blankly at the four humanoid forms levitating above the ground, all in identical poses unevenly spaced apart. He fought to maintain a blank mask. He knew wizards were obsessed with their image (like a certain second year defense teacher of his) but this was just bordering melodramatic. Thankfully he was used to such frivolities and didn't have to fight back the urge to laugh.

He opened his mouth, licking his dry lips. "If you don't want anyone summoning you, why provide a page of it in this book?" he questioned, holding up a thin object. The smug grin creeping upon the woman's face was wiped off immediately.

Another girl (definitely had to be a girl, with that voice) tilted her head, a giggle erupting from her small frame. "We did not write that book, I hope you know." Wavy dark locks slid out of the hood, like black ink.

The hooded teen stood unmoving, the emotionless mask frozen and book still held out in his outstretched arm. He inclined his head in acknowledgement, a brow twitching delicately.

The figure before the trio moved forward a couple inches, the wind following his blithe form. An eerie smile was plastered upon his pale face and he held out a hand. "How quaint for you that we were even in that book," he smiled. There was a brief flash underneath the hood and Harry caught sight of a pair of spectacles. Immediately, rain poured down heavily from the storm clouds and lightning flashed. Thunder vibrated seconds later, startling some birds from their perch.

The Boy Who Lived smirked and threw the book to the man. The man in caught it with a clap. Harry could almost see his eyes furrow curiously. They were painfully simple people, no matter how terrifying they tried to be. They were cynical and the powerful vibe radiating from them was anything but pleasant, but he had very little doubts; this mission would work out fine. If it didn't, well, the book would guarantee their silence and Hermione was working on the other possible allies. And if Hermione proved to be successful, then it didn't matter if these people accepted or not. A clan with principles was, after all, more benefiting than a group of rogues.

Lightning flashed again and flew down to the person in the back. The person didn't flinch when lightning struck the cloak's clasp. Harry watched as the green jewel flared to life; a dark green dragon burst forth and encircled the group with its long scaled body. Golden eyes flickered unpleasantly as it glided above the ground. Harry's breathe caught with awe. Never had he seen such a beautiful dragon, at least, not of that kind. A deep rumbling startled the wizard from his reverie. Lightning flashed again, this time striking the magical being. He blinked. The dragon was gone, but the storm was still raging. His forehead creased. Odd.

He wondered briefly if these people had put some kind of hallucination spell on him.

By now he was soaked to the bone—the cloak did nothing to hinder the violent pelts of rain—and he just remembered the warming spell. A bit late, he thought wryly. He allowed his wand to slide out of its holster and waved it quickly towards the group. Light exploded from the tip of the stick and shot towards the man. He winced at the arced track of the attack. _Must practice that more._

The man in front of him grinned, revealing straight white teeth. He held out his glowing red hand. The spell crashed against the shield and a faint red silhouette circled around the four like a shield of rippling water. He laughed heartily, his round glasses reflecting light as he saw an array ripple across the surface.

"You've certainly done you're research." The man laughed heartily and uncrossed his legs. He landed lightly upon the wet pavement, still within the boundary of the array, and held out a pale hand. "What can we do for you?"

Harry eyed the hand suspiciously before shaking it, hesitantly. Almost instantly a shockwave ran through his body, sending his mind haywire and his nerves standing on end. Something inside of him felt a whole lot more sensitive than usual. He pulled back his hand quickly, shaken, but glad when his senses returned to normal. He glared at the stranger.

The grinning man did nothing but blink innocently, throwing back his hood to reveal amused optics. "Well?" he drawled.

"I need help on searching and destroying a few objects." Harry stated simply.

"Why?" The amusement seemed to be contagious as it was layered deeply upon the soft spoken girl's voice.

"Why not?" He glared at her challengingly. Nothing seemed intimidating after coming face to face with Voldemort. If anything he was annoyed with the Tracker's high and mighty ways.

"Because we want to know why."

Ah, so she was still bitter about the book thing was she? He wanted to smirk, but then he caught sight of the smirking man a little less than a few feet in front of him and forced the corners of his lips to still. He sighed, tired of running around in circles. They truly were so simpleminded. "Why does one ask for help?"

"Why us specifically?" He looked up, startled. He had assumed that the girl at the back was mute.

"You're known for success, absolutely no mistakes. I don't have the time for mistakes." He folded his arms across his chest. "Of course, if your rivals accept my proposition, then I won't need your services afterall."

The rude girl snorted, turning her face to the side. She muttered something under her breath. Her face was still obstructed by the hood, but he could see the ugly scowl marring her lips. At least not all of them were amused at his predicament.

"May I ask," Harry's gaze reverted back to the man. "What do you want us to find and destroy?"

Harry paused, wondering if he should tell them. His eyes landed on the book within the sorcerer's grasp. "Horcruxes," he said.

"And why do you want to destroy these… Horcruxes?"

He smiled grimly. "To kill someone immortal."

The dark brow rose. "Immortal?"

"The Horcruxes allow him immortality, to an extent. I can't kill him properly if they're still around."

"And why must you kill him?"

He was really getting sick of that word. Why this, why that. Merlin, the books never said anything about them being so nosy. He glared at the man again; the amusement was still sparking brightly in his eyes.

"Why must you be so bloody curious?" Harry wanted nothing more than to take out his wand again and hex the man into the next century.

Another rumbling chuckle that echoed the thunder escaped the man's lips. Harry was really getting annoyed at the man's unconcerned nature. It was getting on his nerves. A lot. Times like these he wondered why adults couldn't act their age.

"Oh, is this the wizarding problem we're talking about?"

"So you know." It was hardly a question; he knew these people liked to taunt their customers, liked to dangle every little bit of information just out of reach just to aggravate them. They would feign ignorance, play innocent and, with luck (if they believed in such things), not end up doing anything unless they found it worth their time. And because he knew this, he was aware of the dangerous game he was playing. He had a better chance than most people at least. And a whole load of luck.

The man adjusted his rimless glasses, smiling lazily. "Oh, I travel a lot." The hand darted forward, flicking Harry's hair away from his forehead before he could react. His hood was knocked down and a faint lightning bolt scar was revealed from beneath damp locks. The rain quickly dragged his hair back down, but the man had already caught a clear glimpse of it. "And I believe this has some significance for you wizards."

His eyes narrowed with distrust but the man continued, fingers caressing his cursed scar. It took all of Harry's will to stay still. "You want to stop the big bad evil that is plaguing your wizarding world, but if you were to win, it'd hardly make a difference, what with that government system you live by." He wrinkled his nose with distaste. The man seemed a bit melodramatic. He waited patiently for the next sentence, skin crawling with the sorcerer's touch. "Are you willing to let such incompetent people run your people?"

Finally they were getting somewhere. "No," he answered simply.

The man quirked a brow. "And?"

Harry mirrored the action. "And what?"

There was another deep chuckle. The man spun around and proceeded to walk along the lines of the glowing array. "So this is for your personal reasons?"

"Partly."

"Aa." The long tail swished to the side and Harry caught a brief glimpse of a small smile. It was probably the only genuine one to come from the man since this encounter. "We'll keep in touch, Harry Potter." His visibility blew away with the blinding winds. Harry didn't have to cover his face from the biting draft; his glasses protected his eyes. Harry simply blinked, seeing that the only person left was the quiet girl that had only spoken once this evening. She was still in the air but her countenance had changed. The array beneath her flared and the lines rearranged themselves. The neon glow shifted colors. The harsh downpour on the city stopped and she emitted a small sound. He couldn't tell what she was feeling, it was too hard to decipher.

"You," she paused, as if uncertain, "You remind me of him."

Harry studied her face carefully. "Him?"

She said nothing and her expression remained unchanging. He blinked. She was gone. The cherry blossoms stopped their dance.

X

Hermione glanced nervously around the deserted room. She was positive that he was supposed to be in this room at this time of day, he always was, unless the timetable she had gotten was false. She cursed; a wild goose chase was the last thing she needed. But… her calculating eyes soaked in the surroundings. The room was low roofed and styled just like the old temples she had seen in the history books on Ancient China. The gold paint sparkled and the dragon statues stationed in several different places glowed, claws outstretched menacingly. Tapestries were hung on the wall, long beautiful strips of silk inked carefully with elegant characters.

Hermione almost lost her breath. This room was amazing, almost like she had stepped right into a movie, or back into the past. She never imagined something like this still existed, so properly preserved; Hogwarts was a different story entirely, nothing in that castle would match the exoticness as this room. The castle was enhanced by magic, this room on the other hand, it certainly didn't look like it was enchanted. She was positive that it was completely natural. Hermione wondered briefly if she'd ever be able to study the whole building.

A strong, deep voice broke her concentration and she whipped around, surprised. Her hand unconsciously flew to her chest and she felt her heart beating rapidly. "E-excuse me?"

The tall man repeated himself, this time in English. "What are you doing in here?"

"Uh—" All the excuses she had prepared beforehand escaped her brain and she stuttered hopelessly for a coherent answer. The man was unimpressed and didn't do anything to help her. He raised his brow.

Hermione flushed deeply and her hair frizzled even more under his intense gaze. "I—well—I was just—"

His expression stayed the same and it was only when she hadn't been able to stop her stunted ramblings for over five minutes did he sigh. She stopped speaking immediately, becoming more flustered and feeling thoroughly embarrassed. He unfolded his arms and pushed himself off the wall. "Who are you looking for?"

Timidly she answered, "Anyone's fine, really, but I'd prefer it be the leader of this clan."

"What do you want with the leader?"

The witch inhaled, "Help."

The brow quirked up again. "Help?"

She nodded, her confidence was coming back. Right, that was a good sign, just as long as she didn't look at him she wouldn't stumble and make more of a fool of herself. "I have reason to believe that this is a clan of magic users."

His brow joined the other, narrowing down suspiciously, "And why do you say that?"

"I read in _Sorcery:_ _Asian Influences _that the Li Clan is the only living clan of true blooded sorcerers left in Asia." She broke off and muttered something of arrogance. "The Li Clan is also the clan with the most powerful magic wielders in the world. It—"

His expression was undoubtedly blank as he left the room, not bothering to wait for her to finish with the memorized paragraph that was so awfully detailed. She was strange, she was nervous and she had a bad habit of babbling from what he could tell so far. It was annoying.

"Wait!" Unbearably loud footsteps caught up to his silent stride. She was walking speedily, trying to keep up with his gait. "I'm just here to seek an alliance!"

Abruptly he stopped walking. Alliances were usually a good thing, he mused, but if this girl was sent as a representative then he truly wondered about her people. Said girl stumbled forward before she caught her balance. She seemed miffed; even her bushy hair seemed to be standing on end.

She waited for him to say something but he made no move to. She sighed, exasperated. "To put it bluntly, I am a witch from Britain. Right now there is a powerful dark lord terrorizing our world and I'm not so sure we can last anymore. I—" she faltered, not at all pleased that she was saying this, "I left my school in order to help my friend find a way to stop him. Then I read about your clan! I didn't know if you still existed, but several texts proved you were, so…" she trailed off. What she wanted was obvious.

The man had begun walking some time during her explanation; he was no longer standing next to her. She glanced up and saw him turn the corner. She hurriedly ran after him. "Wait!" she huffed angrily. The man was so rude. Hadn't even spoken more than a few sentences, he hadn't even introduced himself! She hadn't either but at least she made an effort to (even if it was because she had to). It was times like this she wished that Ron had gone in her place instead. At least that way more than one task could be accomplished at the same time (Ron would never open a book unless he absolutely_ had_ to).

"At least show me to someone who will help!" Hermione demanded bossily. If all Asian sorcerers were like him she could understand why there weren't many attending Hogwarts; they were too arrogant, more so than _Malfoy_.

He never responded to her outburst, no side glance, no sigh, nothing. He continued walking calmly across the hallway to wherever his destination was. She huffed again and glared at the Chinese man. Hermione briefly wondered what would happen if she hexed him.

She quickly shoved that thought out of her head. It wouldn't do well for relations if she acted rashly. Sorcerers—she scoffed; Dumbledore was a sorcerer, these people were not—as they termed themselves, supposedly were the best at tracking down untraceable objects. They also excelled in wandless magic, which was ridiculous. She'd never seen any of the teachers, nor any of the aurors perform such a feat, and in a measly little book there was a whole chapter dedicated to the power of _sorcerers._ She assumed that was why the book was so cheap; nothing written in it could've possibly been true.

Hermione had thought so too, and was about to discard of the book until she came across vague details of various well known subjects within the pages, all surprisingly correct to a fault. With a little more research she had been able to validate the book's accuracy. Who wouldn't trust a book written by one Lem Al. Fsalohcin? The man was a famous alchemist who had created the philosophers stone. Despite there being doubts about his sanity, he was a genius; Nicholas Flamel.

Brown eyes blinked with surprise. Too absorbed in her thoughts, she hadn't noticed when they stopped walking. Judging by the expression on the man's face it had been a while. She noticed him standing at one of the entries of the temple, waiting. She couldn't tell if he was impatient or simply bored out of his mind, his expression didn't give anything away.

"Is…" Hermione was confused, "The entrance?" She felt undeniably stupid under his gaze and forced herself to stare pass him and out the doorway. The garden was truly remarkable. Trees with blooming— "Wait a minute," her eyes narrowed and he fell back into her line of vision as she targeted her glare on him. "You're kicking me out?" she screeched indignantly. "Who's the master of this house? Let me speak with him now!"

She could've sworn he rolled his eyes. "Look," he began, his English flawless. She managed to stop herself from reacting oddly; it wasn't that he could speak English perfectly—so could Cho and a few other girls she knew—but because the tone he used commanded respect. Every time he chose to speak a creepy chill ran down her spine; she refused to believe it to be a pleasant feeling. "As tragic as your predicament sounds—" Hermione squawked with outrage; that was sarcasm she heard in his voice! "—this clan will not waste it's time on your petty matters."

"_Petty?_" Disbelief colored her eyes. "You think that innocent people dying because of one madman is _petty_?"

That infuriating brow was arched. "One madman you say?" A smirk tugged at his lips lazily. "In that case, petty is an _overstatement_."

Her fist shook dangerously. He was as bad as that disgusting Malfoy, if not worse. So her _predicament _was petty was it? Her glare intensified. Hermione swung her fist.

As she anticipated, her fist collided with flesh. What she didn't expect was for her fist to be caught painfully tight within a strong hand. She yanked her arm back, but he wouldn't let go. The amusement in his eyes earlier was gone, left with a chillingly cruel glint. His lips were tight, pulled back in a thin line. He hissed darkly, "Are you aware that there are innocents on both sides?"

Hermione understood now, the feeling she always got when she heard him speak. It was the aura surrounding him, dangerous and threatening. His height added no comfort either, being this close to him she realized just how tall he was, well over a head taller than her. She tried to suppress her fear, if anything, this situation was more frightening than the prospect of facing Lord Voldemort unarmed.

"_Xiao Lang_," the newcomer's voice was soft and feminine, and just a tad bit imposing, borderline reprimanding. Hermione let out a sigh of relief when she felt the grip around her fist loosen. She allowed herself a glance at the lady. The woman was the epitome of grace and Hermione already felt waves of respect forming for the woman.

The woman's eyes contrasted with her clothes and powdered face but matched her hair perfectly. Hermione briefly wondered if the Asian sorcerers were related to the basilisk, their eyes had an unnerving ability to freeze anyone in their tracks.

The woman reminded Hermione of Professor McGonagall. Both possessed the stern, no-nonsense air, but while McGonagall was always tightlipped, not to mention old, this woman appeared blasé, her painted lips remaining perfectly relaxed. Her hands were neatly by her side, a fan held delicately in her right palm. When standing still as she was, she could easily pass as a life sized porcelain doll. Hermione admired her already. This woman must have some control over the rude man before her; he had released her fist to bow lowly at the lady.

The woman inclined her head ever so slightly and he straightened, dark hair cascading over her shoulder from the large golden ornament. As much as the women exuded grace, however, it didn't stop the air around them from becoming lot tenser than it had been earlier. The woman's calculating eyes studied Hermione quickly. Hermione shifted uncomfortably and resisted the urge to squirm.

"_Who is this girl?_" Unlike the man, this woman's voice did not send a tingling chill down her spine, but it did claim her respect. Hermione was disappointed though; she never did get the chance to finish learning Chinese, she had gone to Hogwarts instead.

"_This girl?_" He shrugged uncaringly. "_I have no idea._"

Onyx eyes narrowed unnoticeably. "_Is this how I raised you?_"

Amber eyes shifted towards the side, breaking contact with the woman's, a first, Hermione noted. "_You did not raise me._"

The woman's lips tightened and Hermione was once again assaulted with the similarities the woman had with her Transfiguration teacher. The younger man bowed stiffly before brushing pass the woman and back into the house.

Hermione would've let out a sigh of relief with the decreasing tension after the man's departure, but the woman's astute gaze froze her once again. Much to Hermione's surprise, a small smile graced her darkened lips. "Would you care to join me for tea?"

X

"Master…" Slim arms slid around broad and soaked shoulders and a head rested atop his shoulder. "OKAERI NASAI!" The arms around him tightened into a vicelike grip.

A smile painted his ghostly features and he patted the guardian on the head. "Ah Nakuru, ready to go?"

The androgynous moon guardian, who preferred the appearance of a female, pouted. She stared at him with large eyes, blinking as if she had a lash stuck in her eye.

He stared back pleasantly, waiting for her to speak. Nakuru frowned and gave up on fluttering her eyes at him. Clearly her feministic charms weren't having any affect on him.

"If you don't mind." Their attention was drawn backwards. "I would like to enter the house." It seemed they were blocking the doorway.

Eriol hmm-ed. "Problematic, yes?" He looked at Nakuru pointedly.

Nakuru's frown deepened and she directed a glare at the girl who interrupted her moment with her master. "Yes," she muttered, reluctantly letting go of him and moving away from the entrance. She watched as the black haired girl storm past her and towards the stairway.

Attention no longer diverted, she proceeded to remove Eriol's cloak. "How'd it go?"

Tomoyo hung her cloak on the hook and shook her head of the excess water. "He's better than the average customer, mind."

"But?"

The Japanese entrepreneur-in-training smiled. "I have no idea what it is that he wants us to find. Eriol?"

Eriol grinned. "Yes?"

"Suggestions would be helpful."

"I—" He wandered off into the living room and settled into his red arm chair. He placed the drenched and battered book onto the table, staring at it calculatingly. "—have no idea."

"You seem to have ample knowledge about who he is and where he's from," Meiling sniped condescendingly. She was dressed in new dry clothes. "I find it surprising that you claim ignorance about his situation."

"Headache Meiling? You're more snappish than usual." He smiled knowingly.

"You," Meiling growled, "did something to the stairs."

"Me? Why would you say that?"

She glared.

"What? It was Sakura-san."

"Sakura?" She rounded on the girl sitting quietly on the couch.

"Hmm?" The girl blinked out of her daze, smiling. "Oh. I added a few more layers to the barrier; seems you have trouble keeping your mind."

"Eh?" Nakuru smirked from behind Eriol's armchair. "You seem unbalanced Meiling. Are you feeling alright?"

"I'm fine!" she snapped.

Eriol thankfully didn't comment.

Tomoyo, freshly dressed, bounded down the stairs, two books in her arms. "So, down to business." Tomoyo sat next to Sakura and plopped a heavy book onto the glass table. "_Encyclopedia of Magical Artifacts – H_ (haych)."

Meiling groaned at site of the thick edition.

"And—" Another book, slightly thinner, was placed beside it. "—_Beginners Guide to Immortality, _fifth edition."

The girl next to her turned curiously, "Fifth edition?"

"The other four contain nothing of Horcruxes, if my memory is correct. We'll have to start from the fifth, haven't had the time to finish it you see." She tapped her chin. "Though there's another ten or so books after this, I think a new one is coming out soon."

Meiling leaned forward and dragged the second book towards her, searching for the author. "Someone's a bit obsessed with immortality." She eyed Tomoyo.

The girl smiled serenely. "Considering that most of our clients' concern center on this subject, I though it was wise."

The Chinese female was still skeptical, but she seated herself on a separate armchair, book on her lap. She flicked through it lazily. Tomoyo followed her example but was much more diligent. She immediately skimmed through the pages, searching through alphabetically for the word. "Haych, oh, ar, kay, ar, you, see, kay, ehs?" Tomoyo was the best at English, aside from Eriol (who showed no inclination to help), but even then she wasn't the greatest at the complex language.

Nakuru sniggered. "Horkrucks? That sounds quite… unique, in relation to souls of course."

Meiling snorted. "Oh please, it's just plain ridiculous." Her brows furrowed. "Speaking of, the way we greet the clients…" Meiling frowned and pinned him with a glare. "You never did tell me what's up with the dark clouds, storm and lightning. Not to mention the damn floating. It's a wonder anyone takes us seriously. I feel like a freaking clown!"

"Afraid of heights, Meiling?" She made her glare fiercer, but on someone as old as Eriol, it simply made him smile. He ignored her. "Try the letter 'c' instead of 'k', Tomoyo-san," he stated when she failed to find anything.

"Hey! What did I say about ignoring me?"

The puzzled look on his face was the last straw. The book in her lap sailed across the air. Nakuru squawked angrily.

With a smile, the blue haired man caught the volume and opened it to a random page. "Thanks very much Meiling." He turned the book around for all to see, which really didn't help much. From their distance, the only thing visible was the blur of the small black printed sans-serif font. Tomoyo squinted from across the table at one of the many bolded words in the middle of the page. "Ah, Horcrux is it?" She flicked through the pages of her book, searching for the word.

"According to the book, Horcruxes are stated legally within only one other book, _Magick Moste Evile, 'of the Horcrux, wickedest of magical inventions, we shall not speak nor give direction'_." (1)

Meiling stared blankly, "In Japanese would be nice."

He translated the line as best he could.

"Oh," Meiling blinked slowly, "And?"

"And if we want to find out more about searching for what Mr. Potter wishes us to find, we'll have to tread on the other side." Naturally he meant the law.

She still didn't quite understand the point of what he was saying. "What else does the book say?"

"Ah." The sorcerer turned the book back around and scanned the book. Leisurely taking his time, his eyes moved back and forth behind his spectacles and he made an appreciative sound, minutes after.

"Well?"

"Well," he paused, "that's about it—" The raven haired girl was about to throw the nearest object at him (again); a glass paperweight. "Oh! And a reference to other books as well. Tomoyo-san, page 946."

The girl flicked back a page and beamed. "Got it." Tomoyo cleared her throat before translating, "Horcrux is a term that refers to any object in which a person has concealed a part of his or her soul. It is when he or she implants a… eh, fragment of his or her soul within an object, inanimate or living."

"Someone's a bit paranoid," Sakura commented offhandedly from Tomoyo's right. Her head was cushioned atop her arms, which were resting on the armrest. Her eyes were closed and she appeared to be dozing off.

Tomoyo smiled. "Death makes people do stupid things. Though to even think about splitting up your soul… Didn't Potter-san say Horcruxes?"

"So there's someone crazy enough to split his soul up into more than two pieces. Great, more psychopaths," Meiling murmured distractedly. She was busy concentrating on throwing and catching the paperweight. "Alright then, we have a teenager wanting to kill a madman who is crazy enough to split up his soul. Am I missing anything?"

Eriol flicked through the pages of the thick book, thinking. "I think I recall something about a corrupt government."

"I—" Sakura rubbed her eyes blearily, "—am going to go take a nap. Goodnight." The auburn haired sorceress was feeling lethargic, more so than usual. She stumbled towards the stairs.

A loud slam startled everyone in the room. Eriol set the closed book onto the tabletop. "Great idea Sakura-san, I think I will as well." He cheerfully followed her example.

Silence followed the retreating couple.

"Sorcerers," Meiling scoffed, "not a care in the world."

Tomoyo nodded. "Like gods almost."

"Too good for us mortals." Meiling rolled her eyes and shifted to the place that Sakura had occupied. "What else does this book say?"

X

Imagine Hermione's surprise when she discovered the identity of the woman she was having tea with. To her luck she had landed a meeting of sorts with the Matriarch of the Li Clan. _Amazing!_ She wondered fleetingly if Ron had poured some Felix Felicis (2) into her drink this morning but remembered The Rude Man and dismissed that thought. (The Rude Man was made into proper nouns because she didn't know his name.)

After overcoming her impersonation of a fish she was able to analyze the woman more carefully. The Matriarch simply wasn't what she had expected. Voice lightly layered with a Chinese accent, she was not unkind, but not stern either, not like how she was with The Rude Man earlier. That struck Hermione as odd. Perhaps the man was a servant of the family… No, he seemed too dignified for that, too rude as well.

Unfortunately, the hierarchy of the clan was foreign to Hermione. She had little knowledge of pureblood families and could only assume that clans were similar, if not more strict—which did not explain the Matriarch's warm demeanor.

"And you wish for an alliance with us?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically. Unlike The Rude Man, this woman—Yelan she said her name was—showed her respect and listened fully to what she had to say without interrupting. The fact that she seemed interested was also a plus.

"What can you offer us in return?"

"From my research, your clan is immersed in Eastern magic. I could provide a means of introducing the art of our magic to you in exchange."

Yelan sipped her steaming cup of tea, contemplating the advantages of the trade.

"Of course, not saying that Eastern magic is inadequate Mrs. Li, just that with a variety—"

"Miss Granger." Yelan set down her cup. "What makes you think that we do not have access to your magic?"

The question was not asked unkindly, but there was an undertone to the Matriarch's voice, a warning. Suddenly Hermione saw the similarities between The Rude Man and this lady. She hastily stammered an answer. "It is not that I don't think that you are able, but the fact that you clan was stated to be highly isolated from the rest of the magical world in _Sorcery: Asian Influences_. I assumed that you might appreciate firsthand knowledge of witchcraft and wizardry."

Yelan delicately sipped from her herbal tea again, eyes piercing right through Hermione. Her lips parted and Hermione held her breath.

"I will discuss the matter with the clan and speak with my son."

The witch didn't quite know how to react, but for the time being, she was still on safe grounds.

"For the time being," Yelan smiled kindly, "do you mind showing me some of your Western magic?"

And Hermione was able to breathe again, relieved. The brunette beamed and pulled out a wand.

Yelan smiled behind the rim of her cup. Clow Reed's western traits of wizardry had always intrigued her. He had been the first to introduce objects as the main direct focal points for using magic in Eastern sorcery. Now she understood where he got the idea from.

But a wand?

Yelan stifled her laughter but allowed amusement to shine in her eyes. At least he modeled the sealing wand after their staffs. Goodness knows how capturing the cards would've been with a wand.

X

**Footnotes**

(1) From Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, Chapter 18: Birthday Surprises.

(2) Felix Felicis: A potion known that is basically liquid luck, first mentioned in Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, Chapter 9: The Half-Blood Prince.


	2. Progress is the next best thing

**Chapter Two**

_Progress is the next best thing _

**By Kaori**

X

Once he was warm and dry, Harry all but threw himself upon the bed in his parent's old bedroom in Godric's Hollow. It had been a tiring experience, added with the fierce tug of the portkey dragging him across the continent to the other side of the world. Ron harping at him for details wasn't helping. "Ron," his voice was muffled by the pillow, _"Would you mind letting me sleep? I don't think I can handle much else right now." _

Ron blinked. "Er… mate, English, please."

Harry gave him a look and reversed the language spell. He quickly said the same thing again.

Ron was still staring blankly at him.

Harry, frustrated and obviously too knackered to properly counter the language spell, buried his face in the pillow again.

Only to be knocked hard on the head. "Not until you tell me what happened! All these books are driving me mad!"

Harry rolled over onto his back and stretched his stiff muscles, arching his back and purposefully knocking his fiery haired friend off the bed (Ron fell with an indignant yelp) to burrow beneath the warm covers. He flicked his wands a few times, testing out a few words after he cast the spell. On the seventh time he sat up with a glare and angrily stabbed at the air. He was successful.

Smiling, he drifted back down to the bed. "It went fine," he murmured contently, a lazy smile drifting across his lips as he pulled the covers over his chin. "I have their attention. Now we just have to wait it out. They have their pride after all." He yawned widely, clumsily pulling his glasses off his nose to rest them on the table. "Hopefully Hermione's more successful than me. I don't think I'd be able to work well with them." He blinked sleepily. "How is 'Mione?"

Ron sat up from the ground and glared. "Beats me, she hasn't come back yet." He glanced at the crackling fireplace, worried. "Maybe I should've gone with her."

"She can handle herself fine." The teen turned over onto his side and cuddled with the blankets. "Just as long as she doesn't go throwing punches at people who insult her."

Ron grinned at the memory and pulled himself onto a chair. "Seriously mate, why do you think it's taking her so long? You took well over seven hours, she left earlier than you and now it's… er… tomorrow."

A soft snore answered him. Ron glared at the covers. "Hey, Harry!"

No response.

"How can you be sleeping in the middle of the day?" Right after asking that Ron realized it was a stupid question. Harry had been on the other side of the world after all.

Now what was keeping Hermione?

X

Belatedly, Hermione thought that Harry should have gone instead of her. He was by no means a better wizard, scholarly-wise, but he had a naturally charm that compelled people to listen to him. Plus he had green eyes. The son of the Matriarch seemed to love green, what with his green robes and green jewelry. Even the teacup in front of him was greener than hers, and not to mention he was drinking _green tea._

Did she forget to mention that the respectable woman's son was The Ride Man? No? Well… Hermione huffed with indignation. Her luck wasn't as abundant as Harry's it seemed.

It was the next day and Yelan had graciously allowed her to stay the night in one of the spare guestrooms. Right now, hours later at lunch, she was watching the regal woman converse with her son in their mother tongue. He appeared to be bored. Her brow ticked with annoyance. Stuck-up and arrogant, pureblood heirs; Malfoy came to mind and she bristled silently. If this man believed in the same prejudice as the pureblood extremists at home, then she was going to force Ron to take her place.

"You wanted an alliance." His deep voice violently dragged her from her musings and another shiver ran down her spine. "I don't see how we could benefit."

"Our magic—"

"Is useless to us."

"_Xiao Lang," _Yelan said warningly as she drank her tea.

"Is useless to me," he amended.

Hermione didn't know what to say and she felt it best to stay silent unless she said the wrong thing.

He set down his cup, eyes closed. "You said yesterday that a madman is running around killing off innocent people."

She nodded tentatively, unsure of where he was going with it. Belatedly she realized that his eyes were closed and opened her mouth to answer. He spoke before she could.

"If we get involved, then it will be my people at risk as well." Amber eyes opened, fierce and passionate. "What makes you think I'll be willing to take that risk?"

Hermione didn't avert her eyes; instead she glared back, "You clan has four virtues, your code of honor, so to speak; prosperity, power, principle and pride. Principle, _Li, _states that responsibility to one's surroundings is of utmost importance, especially in the human community. (1) It also states that one should maintain selflessness in order to—" she broke off seeing his glare intensify. It seemed her quotes were annoying him. Of course, who wouldn't be annoyed if their life teachings were thrown back in their face as if they didn't know what it was.

"That still doesn't tell me why I should help."

Suddenly Hermione was uncontrollably angry. She shot out of her seat and slammed her hands onto the table. "Voldemort is trying to _take over the world_. He may only be focusing on the Western world right now, but sooner or later he's going to move to the Eastern world as well! If he stays alive then the _whole_ world will be dragged into it no matter what you do!"

And he was not to be bested by a girl who had no rank in his clan. He glared disdainfully from his seat, teacup abandoned. "Are you saying that I am incapable of protecting my clan?"

He was aggravating and she so wished she could smash her fist into his face. "I'm saying that powerful or not, every clan in the world will have to rise up to him sooner or later! Either that or join him as his _servants_!"

"That is enough," said Yelan, setting down her cup as well. Her son turned his head to the side, refusing to meet anyone's gaze. Hermione flushed and meekly sunk down into her seat, weakly muttering an apology.

"Miss Granger." Hermione turned her attention to the regal woman. "Your situation has been considered by the clan." She folded her dainty hands in her lap. "We will help you."

Before she could show her gratitude, a loud burst of angry Cantonese exploded from the young heir as he argued with his mother.

Kohl lined eyes narrowed warningly, effectively cutting off his protest. _"Xiao Lang, **you** will go with her."_

The Muggle-born witch wished for the umpteenth time that she learnt Chinese, though she realized that at her old school they taught Mandarin instead.

"_I will not—_"

"_You will, Xiao Lang."_ Onyx eyes hardened considerably and the lines of her jaw tightened.

Abruptly he stood and stalked off into the large temple-styled manor.

"_I did not dismiss you,"_ she said loudly, not expecting a reply. One of the doors slammed shut, sending a violent shudder throughout the garden.

Yelan reached out for her cup and sipped. Hermione fidgeted in her seat, uncomfortable.

"I apologize for my son's behavior. He cannot keep a firm hold over his temper," she said mildly, as if commenting on the weather. The stern lady from before was gone, replaced was the warm Matriarch that Hermione had acquainted herself with. Hermione mentally noted never to anger the woman.

Yelan smiled, her red painted lips lifting. "He will go with you. He is the best we have." Hermione could practically see the pride bursting from Yelan's eyes but didn't dare comment. It was obvious to see that mother and son had some issues to sort out.

Hermione grinned gratefully. "Thank you, very much Mrs. Li, I—" Brown eyes blinked when Yelan held up a pale hand.

"No need Miss Granger. You are right about our virtues. Principle is of utmost importance," said Yelan warmly. "Now, would you mind showing me that spell again, the one to conjure the birds?"

Hermione gladly complied and palmed her wand, "_Avis!_" Following the loud gunshot-like blast, a flock of small twittering birds flew out from the glowing tip. (2) The avian creatures ascended above the trees and into the cloudless, blue sky.

X

It had been nearly two days since Hermione had gone off to Hong Kong, and since then they had received no reply. Harry was worried, but Ron was frantic.

"Did she tell you the number of the hotel she was staying at?" Harry asked offhandedly.

Ron stared with confusion. "Number?"

"You know, teleph— Wait, never mind. Did she say where she was staying?"

Ron frowned. "No, as far as I know she was going to apparate right into there. She didn't even bring anything with her but her wand and portkey."

Harry's brow shot up. That was completely unlike her.

"We didn't think it'd take that long. Thought it'd go shorter than you, that's for sure."

Harry rubbed his eyes from beneath his glasses. "Think we should go over there?"

"I would've gone a long time ago if she had told me exactly _where_ she was going."

"You mean you didn't ask?"

"She said Hong Kong," Ron defended.

"Ron, I already knew that." Harry narrowed his dark eyes. "So you just let her go off by herself without telling you exactly where she went?"

"It's not my fault! She left before I could ask! And you were still asleep! I was barely awake myself!" Ron was becoming frantic again.

"Bu—"

Something slammed into Harry. The boy lost his balance and toppled onto the floor, the heavy weight keeping him pinned.

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed, seeing the girl sway unsteadily in front of him. "What took you so long?"

Hermione smiled wryly. "Glad to know you weren't worried. But—" Her eyes widened. "Ah! Harry, are you alright?" She rushed to his side and pushed the man off her friend. The Chinese man rolled away willingly into a crouch and quickly got to his feet. He brushed off his pants and glared at the girl who was fussing over her friend. He wasn't happy, and their mode of transport put him in a worse mood than earlier. He rubbed his nape, grumbling silently.

"You sure you're fine?" Hermione pulled the black haired wizard upright, checking him for injuries.

"Eh, no worries 'Mione," he rubbed his sore head, wincing as his hand passed over a small bump, a bruise no doubt. "I take it everything went well?"

Hermione grinned and nodded cheerfully. "This is…" She furrowed her brows. "…Shaolang Li, I think," she muttered the last words under her breath, gesturing towards the scowling man standing close to the far wall of the living room.

The heir's scowl deepened. "Xiao Lang Li," he corrected.

"Well then," Ron held out a hand and grinned, "Ron Weasley, nice to meet you Sh—"

"Li," Syaoran said before they could speak his name. He blatantly ignored the proffered hand.

Ron's hand dropped back to his side and his smile slipped off his face. "Er… right, Li then."

"Harry Potter." Harry smiled weakly. Syaoran eyed him, but said nothing else. The tension in the room was building steadily and the silence was becoming a tad bit awkward.

Hermione briefly cast a glare in the brunette's direction. "How'd it go with you?" she asked Harry.

Harry grinned sheepishly. "As well as could be expected. Hopefully they'll contact me this week."

"And you?" Hermione turned to Ron, gaze piercing. "What did you manage to do these past few days? Get through any books?"

Ron backed up a few paces. He was nervous, and rightly so. "'Mione, I-I—"

The sound of someone clearing their throat distracted them. All three wizards turned towards the disgruntled man.

"I don't take well to being ignored," he stated coldly.

Hermione glared at him and opened her mouth to retort. Harry, however, beat her and scrambled forward apologetically. "I'm sorry, you must be tired. I can get one of the spare rooms cleaned up for you right now." He grabbed hold of Syaoran's arm and bag and dragged him off towards the spare guestroom, leaving behind a fuming Hermione and a lost Ron.

"Strange guy, that," Ron commented mildly, sitting down heavily on a chair. "Couldn't have chosen a better one could you?"

Ron was pierced with Hermione's death glare before he could say anything else.

X

Syaoran was anything but pleased; in fact, if he was able to get away with shooting lightning and fire at anything that moved, that wouldn't even _scrape_ pleased. In other words, he was in a foul mood. His fingers were twitching to do some damage.

If only he had agreed to shield every single room of the manor from outside interference, that way the idiot girl—"Her_mi_one Granger," he mocked inwardly, altering his mental voice to a higher pitch—wouldn't have been able to enter in the first place. He knew that decision would turn around and bite him in the ass one day.

And because of that little mistake, he had once again gotten his mother angry at him with another burden thrown onto his shoulders. Normally he'd love to go on a mission—anything to get away from his harping sisters, overbearing mother, stiff Elders and worshipping cousins—but those missions were normally something that benefited the clan. This mission did not; in fact, it would probably bring more grief than none.

Not to mention the sting of Western magic still got to him. He never really understood his hatred towards Clow's other blood half; he was aware that Clow's father was of Western decent and that their magic was different. One stage in his life he was awed by the contrasts of the other world, he even remembered—god forbid—begging his mother to show him some of the Western spells; she locked him in the training room, not letting him out until he had exhausted himself to the brink of delirium. He was ten then, and she was bitter because the Clow cards hadn't chosen him as their master. Instead they chose some weakling girl who knew nothing of magic. He never could remember anything else of that time, everything he knew he learnt from his sisters and by listening to the rumors circulating around the house. His past and childhood was a blur and the only thing he was sure of was that he hated Clow and everything he represented.

And so he hated—disliked—wizards and witches. Illogical, yes, went against everything he was raised to be, yes, but he long ago abandoned the need to justify his actions.

His opinions, however, did nothing to help him. The minute he touched the foreigner's coin (forced to under his mother's stern gaze, of course) he felt something tugging violently at his nape while his feet was swept out from underneath him.

Now, Syaoran valued his ability to maintain his balance no matter what, so it was understandable that he wasn't in the most chipper of moods when he found himself sprawled awkwardly atop some poor unsuspecting soul who was fool enough to be in the way. That wasn't the worse of it. It took him quite a few precious minutes to regain his bearings, and during that time, the irritating girl (who was able to land on her feet) was arguing with some irritating male while he was immobile on top of a groaning, no doubt pained, male. Not exactly his ideal situation.

He steadied his left hand and leg on the floor and was just about to roll away when someone dared to _push _him away. Syaoran rolled into a crouch, careful to keep his face blank. He simply _hated_ it when somebody touched him, but to show them that would mean exposing a weakness. The man brushed the dust away from his pants and glared at the insufferable girl. Annoyance ticked at his brow when he realized that she probably did that on purpose, the not warning him on their mode of transport part. Syaoran rubbed the back of his neck; he was, understandably, quite unused to the ruthless tugging at his nape, and his magical senses were going haywire with the interference. No wonder his people stayed away from Western magic. Only someone as crazy as Clow would dare mix the two together.

Syaoran grumbled silently when he watched Harry Potter cleaning up what was to be his new room for who knows how long. Begrudgingly, he acknowledged the practicality of the boy's magic. Eastern magic didn't focus on such mundane things, though it could if he really wanted it to. Syaoran frowned.

"Please excuse the mess, I've only recently moved in, haven't had the time to clean every room yet." Harry aimed a few more cleaning charms in all directions of the room, beaming as the dusty walls quickly became the epitome of cleanliness. The sheets on the single sized bed were pristine white and a small array of colors danced upon the sparkling window as the light of the morning sun drifted through.

Syaoran said nothing but went to his bag, the one that Harry had dragged in for him. He sighed inwardly. Now that he had a chance to calm down from the anger (the girl had caught him at a very bad time and his mother was as infuriating as ever) he realized that giving them the cold shoulder wouldn't help him any. If he wanted to get this over and done with, then he'd have to at least make an effort, or pretend to.

"Thank you," Syaoran murmured quietly.

Harry smiled kindly. "It's the least I could do, with you helping us and all."

"Hn." Syaoran zipped open his bag, ignoring the wizard. Just because he was going to be on speaking terms with them didn't mean he'd have to be friendly.

Harry, understanding that the stranger wanted to be left alone, quietly cancelled the spells once the room was entirely free of grime and dust, and left.

X

"Are you sure he can be trusted?" Ron asked, shoveling cereal and milk down his throat. It was late, and he hadn't eaten because he had been worried about Hermione, but it was still too early for lunch.

Hermione winced seeing the food in his mouth. "No, but I trust his mother, and he doesn't seem like the type to disobey her orders."

"Orders?" Harry questioned, coming into the kitchen.

"Well, I assume that's what it was, I can't understand Chinese Harry," Hermione stirred her spoon through her breakfast. "Too bad that spell couldn't accommodate."

Harry grinned, "Too bad eh?" He sat down on the stool and propped his elbows up on the counter. "Well, I guess that means that we don't need the Trackers' help anymore," he said, referring to the people he had gone to seek assistance from.

"I guess not, they're rivals aren't they? Would be pretty hard to get them to work together," Ron said.

"Well," Harry jumped out of his seat with a cheerful grin, "I'll be off to write the letter."

Once he was out of the room, and they were sure he was up the stairs, Hermione leaned forward. "He's been acting weird since, you know."

Ron winced and stopped stuffing his face with food, "Yeah, he's too happy. Did you see how thrilled he was to face the Trackers by himself? Bloody suicidal, he is."

Hermione nodded her agreements, remembering all the dangers and warnings the book had spoken of if one wanted to seek out the tracking foursome for help.

There was comfortable silence between the two until they heard a thump resounding from above. Hermione furrowed her brows. "That wasn't Harry's room."

"That Li guy then."

Hermione narrowed her eyes, suspicious. "He better not be up to something."

"Didn't you say he could be trusted?"

"Trusted in helping us with our mission, yes, but not with anything else."

"You don't like him do you?" Ron nodded, as if satisfied, "I don't either. He refused to shake my hand." He swallowed another spoonful of milk. "Say, he isn't afraid of touching people is he?" The youngest male Weasley pushed the rim of the bowl to his lips to drink up the milk.

"It's impolite to speak about somebody behind their back," a deep smooth voice slithered up from behind.

The milk sprayed out of Ron's nose and he choked pitifully on his breakfast, spluttering incoherently. The witch next to him patted his back while casting a cleaning charm. She aimed a glare at the leader. "It's impolite to sneak up on someone unsuspecting."

Syaoran raised a brow but did not comment. He was above such trifling quarrels.

"Hn." He continued to find the entrance, a bored mask settling upon his face. If he was going to be stuck here for an indefinite amount of time, he wasn't going to stay caged like an animal.

"Where are you going?" Hermione demanded.

The only reply she received was the quiet slam of the front door.

The witch shook uncontrollably with anger, while Ron's face camouflaged itself with his hair. "You know what? I know exactly what you mean. He's a bloody arrogant, stuck-up git!"

For once Hermione didn't reprimand him.

X

"_Trackers,_

_I thank you for sparing the time of day to meet with me however, due to some special circumstances I no longer require your services. Enclosed with this letter will be the remission fee. I apologize for any inconveniences. _

_Sincerely, _

_Harry Potter."_

From her seat on the couch, Tomoyo closed the book she had been reading. Nestled on her head, Suppi did nothing but flick to the next page of his miniature book. Next to Tomoyo, Meiling stared, and from Meiling's lap, Sakura was dozing off. In the kitchen, above the loud clatter of pots and pans, Nakuru could be heard cackling. "What?" Meiling asked calmly.

Eriol blinked. "What?"

Meiling deadpanned. "In Japanese, please."

Eriol blinked slowly. "Oh," he said after a moment's deliberation. "Very well then." With an almost tragic sigh, he translated, reading infuriatingly slow, careful to pronounce every syllable to the point where it barely made any sense.

When Meiling managed to make ends meet, she glared. "You could've just said so." She shut the book she had been reading and threw it onto the table. "Researching Horcruxes is killing my brain. Hey!" She nudged Sakura's head from her lap, "Up! My legs are cramping!"

Sakura grumbled something unintelligible and sat up, careful with the weight of her legs resting across Tomoyo's. Once Meiling was up, she slumped back down.

"Meiling, really," Tomoyo admonished softly.

Said girl grinned before stalking off to look at the messenger. "Owls huh? How strange," she murmured, eying the snowy white owl curiously. She reached out a hand to pat her feathers. The owl squawked before launching forward to bite her finger. Meiling's eyes widened and she withdrew her hand quickly; thank the gods her reflexes were so good. She glared at the owl, but it matched hers with its own baleful stare. The white owl held up one leg, the one with a large sack attached.

"I guess that's the payment," Meiling muttered. She backed away from the creature and stared at Eriol. "You take it."

Eriol smiled and took the bag from a suddenly docile bird. Meiling gaped.

"Ah, thank you pretty little bird, you have been most helpful." Eriol ran his hand soothingly down the avian's back. The owl hooted receptively before hoping away from his touch. A second later, the small ring around her other leg glowed. The owl was gone.

Meiling took the bag that Eriol was holding loosely and unfastened the tie. Peering inside, her brows shot up, "Gold? Huh, imagine that. Primitive, wizards are." She threw the sack onto the table for Tomoyo to examine.

Tomoyo grabbed the bag and poured the contents out onto the table. She sorted through the gold and counted, "Fourteen pieces." Tomoyo traced around the edges of a coin, "With a serial number around the outer edge. A dragon on one side and a strange old man with a hat on the other. Their currency, I assume. One—" She squinted at the writing. "Galleon, I think. From Gringotts Bank." She slid the coins back into the bag, "What I don't understand is how they've managed to stay hidden so well, with a community that large." She tied the string in a neat bow with a flourish, "Now I'm really curious, ne Sakura-chan?"

Sakura sighed but didn't move the arm covering her eyes. "Hai."

Tomoyo's eyes softened. "You're tired again?"

Sakura made a sound of agreement.

"Come on, up," she said, pushing Sakura's legs off her lap. "It's time you get to bed, it's late." When Sakura was on her feet, Tomoyo ushered her towards the stairs, leaving Eriol with Meiling together alone with only Nakuru's and Kero's constant yelling in the background (Suppi was still on Tomoyo's head while Yue had gone off to some unknown place).

Meiling sighed tiredly, slumping down into a chair. "Do you know why she's so tired all the time?"

Eriol glanced at her, his glasses glinting with the artificial light. "Saa," he murmured, not exactly completing the sentence.

The Chinese girl looked at him, though not a single trace of a glare or scowl lining her face. "Saa?"

Eriol smiled mysteriously. "Aa."

"I'm not going to get anything out of you am I?" her eyes sparkled wryly and she sprawled across the couch. She changed the topic suddenly. "I hate it how I'm always acting foolish and rash." She folded her arms under her head, mindful of the odangos.

"Surprise, Meiling-san, is the best advantage."

"Oho, you mean deceit don't you?"

"Call it what you wish," he slid his glasses of his face to wipe them clean. "Though it is only deceit when we are unaware of it, for everyone else, on the other hand…" He graced her with a small smirk. "Go to sleep Meiling, I expect you all to be up at dawn tomorrow, no excuses."

Meiling grumbled under her breath but complied, marching off into her room. She paused at the steps. "You know Eriol, as hard as I try, I can't see why he hates you so much."

Eriol closed his eyes and beamed, "Glad to know it's not hereditary."

She rolled her eyes. "On second thoughts…" Meiling shook her head with a laugh, disappearing up the stairs.

X

Harry blinked at the scene that greeted him in the kitchen. "What happened?"

"Li happened," Ron glared at his bowl of sodden cereal, watching as the small flakes drifted around what little milk was left. He stabbed the bowl with his spoon. Harry sent him a curious look. The redhead was too distracted to notice, Hermione wasn't. She at least had two days to deal with the cold, conceited man, and she had more patience than Ron would ever learn.

"Sorry Harry, he's… too much like Malfoy."

She was surprised to see the sudden glare aimed in her direction. She forced herself not to shudder, seeing the hardened green eyes. "He's a lot better than Malfoy," he spat out the pureblood's name venomously. The air around him pulsed and the plates began to shake. "He's giving up his time to help us."

"Only because his mother ordered him to!"

"And he's doing remarkably well for someone who doesn't even want to be here," Harry said. There was something odd with the way he spoke but Hermione couldn't identify it. "He's quiet, but at least he's polite."

Ron scoffed. "Are we talking about the same person Harry? He's glaring at everything that moves!"

"Just because he doesn't smile doesn't mean he's glaring."

"Harry, are you blind? He acts like he owns the whole bloody place! He looks down on us just like Malfoy does. I swear he's a pureblooded fanat—"

"Ron!" The glare froze the redhead mid rant. "No one who is willing to help us should be compared to that, that _thing!_"

Hermione reached out to touch his arm, suddenly worried and completely willing to drop the subject. "Harry, what's wrong?"

The boy flinched back, slightly panicked.

"Mate?" Ron glanced at Hermione questioningly. She shrugged helplessly.

"Are you feeling alright Harry?"

"I-I—" His eyes darted frantically between the two and the door. "I'm sorry." He ran out of the house.

"Harry!" Ron was about to follow him if it weren't for the restraining hold on his arm. "Hermione?"

"Don't. I—" she faltered, unsure, "I think he needs some time alone, to come to terms with some things."

Ron would've protested, but he understood all too well what she was feeling, what they all were feeling. They were all struggling to come to terms with Dumbledore's death. The wizarding world hadn't quite been the same with the news of the great wizard's death and it seemed Harry had taken it the hardest, just like he had with Sirius, and Cedric.

Sometimes Ron wondered what Harry ever did to deserve such bad luck, and, shamed as he was to admit it, he was glad he didn't have to carry such a burden on his shoulders. He had no idea why he used to be jealous of his dear friend; he was sure he'd have gone mental a long time ago and he wondered why Harry hadn't yet.

One could only take so much.

X

Harry ran, away from Godric's Hollow, away from his friends, away from the place his parents died for him. He clenched his eyes and tightened his hand around the locket around his neck, the fake locket planted by R.A.B., the one that Dumbledore had wasted his life for.

He didn't know where he was going, the only thought he had in his mind was to get away from everything.

Only when his lungs began to burn for oxygen and the muscles of his legs screamed with pain did he slow down; he panted, clutching the locket tighter and staring with glazed eyes at the small village cemetery.

Harry collapsed at the gate, despair seeping into his eyes. His breathing had calmed down, but his eyes blurred with warm tears. He knew with the blood protection provided by his aunt ineffective, he wasn't safe being by himself, especially at such a place as Godric's Hollow. It would most probably be one of the first places that Voldemort would search for him, and with the delay of the Fidelius Charm, he wasn't supposed to be in open spaces for very long.

He didn't care, not right now. He felt numb inside, and didn't know what else to do now that Dumbledore was gone. He knew he had to collect and destroy the Horcruxes; it was only then would he be able to destroy Voldemort. The only problem was that he had no idea where to start.

And that was where the Li Clan came in. Harry found a book down Knockturn Alley in _Borgin and Burkes_—slinking around under his invisibility cloak—when searching for devices that might be useful for tracking down an object. It was in that book that he read about the famous Li Clan that, if offered the right price, would be able to accomplish even the most impossible task (sans raising the dead). This lead to the book Hermione had found written by Nicholas Flamel, and then a few more recent books that introduced the Trackers who rivaled with the Li Clan.

Perhaps that was why he was so adamant about Li against the friends he had known for over six years. He was desperate for the help, not that he'd ever admit it, but he knew he couldn't do it alone, no matter how much he tried to convince himself that he could. However, dragging in someone whom he didn't know to help him weighed less heavily on his conscious than having his friends protecting him, it was selfish of him, but what did the world expect from a seventeen year old?—Ignoring the defeat of the Dark Lord.

By destroying Marvolo's ring, it cost Dumbledore his hand. Dumbledore was the greatest wizard of the age and Harry was just the Boy Who Lived because of his mother's sacrifice. What damage could he do besides escaping unscathed while those around him fell to their death? Harry was well aware that he was wallowing in self pity, but he was drowning, and he didn't quite feel like exerting the effort needed to swim back to the surface.

"Aaaah, little bitty baby Potter (3), all by his lonesome self without any of his little bitty friends around to protect him, how tragic for you."

His eyes snapped open; he recognized that mocking baby voice. Harry felt a surge of anger run through him and he spun towards the direction of her voice.

"Little baby Potter, crying! Thinking about my dear cousin are you? Or is it the old muggle loving fool?" Bellatrix cackled with triumphant laughter, delight shining brightly within her fanatical eyes.

He moved his hand into his pocket for his wand. His eyes widened with horror when he encountered nothing but the rough material of his jeans.

"Looking for this are you?" Bellatrix dangled a long piece of wood in front of his eyes, her lips curled up in a twisted and ugly parody of a smile. "Poor little Potter dropped it; decided that crying was more important did you?"

She leaned in close, a dangerous glint entering her blood thirsty eyes. "I won't forgive you—the prophecy," she hissed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. Her cheeks were flushed and she had trouble containing her excitement. She pocketed his wand when he leaped at her. The tackle knocked her backwards into the dirt and she kicked him off of her. Harry rolled away, his wand safely in his palm once again.

Bellatrix was quickly on her feet, a wand sliding into her hand. With a snarl, she cast a spell. Fast as lightning, a jet of red light flew towards Harry. He recognized it as the beam that brought Sirius to his death and threw his body to the side, thankful for his seeker reflexes. "After I'm through with you…" Bellatrix closed her eyes with pleasure, face twisted and demented. Harry was sure that, whatever it was she was thinking, he wanted no part in it. It was disturbing enough having to watch her.

"_Reduct—_"

There was a flash of light and a gash appeared on the top of Harry's hand. (4) He yelped with surprise and dropped his wand. Blood splattered over his clothes and sprinkled across the cemented ground.

With Harry distracted, Bellatrix's eyes snapped open and she aimed her wand.

"_Crucio!"_

X

**Footnotes**

(1) Was searching around the internet to see what four concepts I could use as the Li Clan's code. Principle, coincidentally, happens to be _li. _For further information, search "Li (Confucian)" in Wikipedia.

(2) _Avis _is the spell that Mr. Ollivander used to test Viktor Krum's wand in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Chapter 18: The Weighing of the Wands.

(3) This is what Bellatrix calls Harry in Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, Chapter 35: Beyond the Veil.

(4) I'd be giving away too much if I tell you exactly where it's from, though I'm sure many of you have figured out who else is lurking in the shadows.


	3. All because a light and fluffy feeling

**Chapter Three**

_All for a light and fluffy feeling _

**By Kaori**

X

"What have you done with him?" Ron demanded fiercely.

Syaoran blinked at the wand thrust in front of his face, but forced himself to focus his gaze on the wielder lest he become cross eyed. His brows furrowed with annoyance as he regarded the angry male. "Who?" he asked innocently, well aware that it would get on the wizard's nerves.

"Harry!"

"Harry," he repeated slowly, as if trying to place a face with the name. "You're other companion?"

Ron glared at him, feeling extremely protective. "Where _is_ he?" he stressed threateningly.

"Harry Potter?" The sorcerer saw the wizard's hand twitching and smirked. "I have no idea."

Just as Ron moved his hand in the beginnings of a wand movement, a hand clamped down over his wrist. The hard grip forced him to release his wand with a pained gasp.

"Weasley," Syaoran said, face coming alarmingly close to the redhead's. Amber eyes pierced into shocked cerulean. "I do not tolerate threats," he murmured lazily, "nor do I tolerate false accusations. Do you understand?"

Ron stammered a reply and was relieved when the death grip around his wrist was gone. The sorcerer walked calmly up the stairs.

When he was out of site, Hermione rushed over to her friend's side, worriedly checking over the damage. She gasped when she saw the dark purple bruising around Ron's pale wrist. Hermione visibly flinched. "That's got to hurt. I'll go get some ice."

"Yeah," Ron picked up his wand as Hermione closed the front door. They both wandered into the kitchen, with Ron wincing in pain. He muttered, "The guy's bloody terrifying."

"Defensive too," Hermione agreed, walking to the freezer and retrieving the frozen ice pack. She wrapped a tea towel from one of the drawers around the pack and handed it to Ron. He placed it on his wrist uncertainly.

Hermione sat down next to him, holding the pack in place as she stared at the lunch they had prepared. It was still steaming hot, having placed the necessary heating charms upon them, but it was way past noon, but still too early to be sunset.

Hermione sighed, concerns of the dangerous stranger filtering through her thoughts. Right now she was more worried about Harry's wellbeing to care for the possible threat upstairs. Harry seemed to have plenty of trust in the man, no matter how blind that faith was. That had to count for something.

"I think we should've gone after him," Ron said, sending a baleful stare towards the food.

Hermione cast him a look. "He doesn't need us crowding around him," she said, not completely certain. "He can take care of himself." She sat down in a seat, fidgeting worriedly.

She wasn't sure if she was trying to convince Ron or herself.

"Besides, what's the worse that can happen?"

X

It was as if time froze, but somehow he had been allowed the mercy of awareness. Actually, that sounded very much like the Freezing Charm, and he would've thought it was if it weren't for the fact that all of his body was frozen, sans his head. On the upside, Bellatrix was in the same position.

The Cruciatus Curse had no light to indicate where it was, but Harry was able to feel the rippling power of the curse distorting the air between him and Bellatrix. Whatever had happened, he was thankful. He wasn't quite up to feeling the pain of the curse any time soon, not ever for that matter.

The look on Bellatrix's face was priceless. Harry would've laughed if it weren't for the fact that there was a curse frozen in mid motion unbearably close to him.

"What's going on?" she bellowed, frantically rotating her head around in hopes of catching a glance at the culprit. "Snape! If you've double-crossed—"

"I did not." The quiet disdainful voice full of slime ignited the anger within Harry yet again.

Harry snarled, face swinging to the right. He struggled against his confines, desperate to get to his wand. Suddenly, as if hearing his plea, he fell to the ground, regaining full control of his body but losing his balance. Wasting no time, he grasped at the ground for his fallen wand. He couldn't find it anywhere near him. That was impossible. He darted his eyes around, trying futilely to catch a glimpse of the stick while keeping his front facing the two Death Eaters (constant vigilance, after all). No one had come near him when he dropped it, and he would've seen if Bellatrix or Snape had taken it magically.

Harry stumbled to his feet, disorientated. "Where is it?" He demanded, trying desperately to keep from becoming hysterical. "Where's my wand?" He glanced from between the two Death Eaters, but they were preoccupied with trying to break free from the invisible bindings.

"Shh…" A warm breath whispered against his ear, soothing him quietly. Harry felt himself becoming less tense, no longer panicking about the missing wand. He felt a hand sliding down his arm and a warm tingling feeling sparked across his bleeding hand. Harry sucked in his breath. His hand was healed. A hard cylindrical object was forced gently into his hand—his wand, he realized—and then the person disappeared.

Suddenly, he could make out the blurred silhouette streaking across the distance of the spell. The ominous pulse of the curse shuddered, and then disappeared completely. The Death Eaters didn't notice.

The Boy Who Lived watched curiously as the blur stalked towards the insane Azkaban escapee. His anger was currently forgotten and all he could do was watch with morbid fascination as Bellatrix was suddenly choking on her breath. Her limbs slackened, but her hands moved to tighten around the invisible grip around her neck. With a strangled gasp, she was thrown backwards, as if hit with the Blasting Curse. Harry's eyes traced the blur in the daylight as it moved towards the man shrouded within the trees' shadows.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He could feel no constant afternoon breeze brushing against him as it usually did every time he visited the graveyard. More curious were the trees. Not a single leaf twitched, and the strands of grass stayed frozen. Perhaps that time freezing theory held some merit. Unfortunately, he wasn't the most trustworthy when it came to details of sight. His glasses were in dire need of a new prescription.

A loud thud knocked Harry out of his musings as his eyes traced the source of the noise. Harry couldn't stop himself from laughing when Snape followed Bellatrix's example. The traitor landed in a heap beside his comrade, whom, unfortunately, had already gotten to her feet, wand wielded threateningly. Her eyes locked onto him the minute she heard his laugh. "You!" she hissed, eyes flashing, "What did you do?"

He was just as clueless as she was and shrugged calmly. She couldn't blame him for being honest.

Bellatrix was becoming frantic, not wanting to accept his answer as truth. _Something_ had effortlessly unarmed her and she wanted to know what it was. And Harry was the only suspect. "_Crucio!_" With a shriek, she aimed her wand at him once again, sending the illegal curse in his direction. _"Crucio! Crucio! Crucio!"_

Harry ducked to the side, but found that it was quite unnecessary. The curse stopped a few feet from where Harry had been standing, rippling against an invisible shield. The moment the violent ripples stopped, her wand exploded with a blinding burst of light. An awful, ear-piercing scream erupting from her throat and Harry had to cover his ears with his hands. As much as he wanted to see her suffer, hearing it was a little unsettling.

Bellatrix panted and stared disbelievingly at her bloodied hand. Splinters of wood were embedded deeply in her palm and fingers, and her hand trembled. "No," she whispered, "NO! DAMN YOU!" She lunged at the equally stunned boy.

"BELLATRIX!" Snape moved from the shadows and grabbed hold of her dark robes. With a loud crack, they were gone.

And then a comfortable silence settled over the deserted clearing in front of the cemetery entrance.

Harry's legs were suddenly feeling weak and he fell to his knees. Harry breathed in slowly, and then exhaled, trying to process the current events.

"Alright," he breathed, "Death Eaters attack me, something stopped them and I'm relatively unharmed."

He pinched himself. _Ow! _Okay, it wasn't a dream. It felt like a dream, but it wasn't. Maybe he'd been sleepwalking, or was hallucinating. A cold gust of wind brushed past his face and he dismissed that idea.

He furrowed his brows. _What **did** happen? _It couldn't possibly be wandless magic. Every other time he had attempted it he had been even more desperate than now and that had resulted in a little less than nothing. He also didn't feel magically drained. Wandless magic was out of the question. Accidental magic was as well.

Harry could clearly recall the warmth on his arm, healing his hand, and he remembered the hard chest against his back. It was definitely a male, a very tall male. Maybe Ron had taken his invisibility cloak, or perhaps an Order member had used one, but the man was even taller than Ron, and he didn't know anyone who could block the painful Unforgivable. Harry furrowed his brows, the blocking of the Cruciatus curse, it wasn't possible, unless… Harry frantically got to his feet, feeling around the area for a body. Minutes later he turned up with nothing and sighed with relief.

Then he remembered his entire body being frozen. Harry couldn't think of a spell that had that effect unless someone had modified the Freezing Charm, and if someone had cast it, they'd have to be efficient with wandless and soundless magic. Harry leaned against the gate, thoroughly confused.

His breath caught, eyes widening. Dumbledore! He had told him once, "I don't need a cloak to become invisible." (1) And surely Dumbledore was powerful enough to evade the Cruciatus Curse. Harry was sure he was adept with wandless magic, and he was tall. But—his emerald gaze dropped to the ground—Dumbledore was dead, he had seen with his own eyes, trapped within his own body, as the almighty Headmaster was thrown off the Astronomy Tower.

"Dumbledore's dead," he whispered as he stared into the starry night sky, no longer seeing it. "He's gone and I just want it all to end."

Suddenly, a strong wave of anger washed over him, filling the hollow emptiness of his heart. He wanted to hurt someone, cause some damage, and destroy everything in sight. He tightened his fists, uncaring if his nails caused abrasions on his smooth palms. He wouldn't—he closed his eyes to block out the brightly burning stars. This was exactly like after Sirius had died, when he had destroyed the trinkets within Dumbledore's office.

With a considerable amount of effort, he forced himself to relax, breathing in and breathing out deeply to clear his mind. He couldn't afford to indulge in anymore petty temper tantrums. He was much too childish back then, and now, being seventeen already, he had to be an adult, for Dumbledore's sake.

And so he lay back against the rocky ground and singled out the star he knew was Sirius, staring dazedly at the brightest star in the sky. A small sad smile was on his face as he remembered his loud and brash godfather. With a blink, realization dragged him back to reality. Since when had it gotten so dark out? It was barely noon a few minutes ago. Or was it?

Mind numb, Harry slowly ventured back to Godric's Hollow. His friends would want an explanation for his absence, but he didn't feel quite like telling them. He didn't feel like he was in the right frame of mind either. He could barely recall the recent events because they felt too much like a dream, he felt like he was dreaming, walking through the peaceful night, just waiting for the nightmares to jump out of the shadows.

The minute he was back at Godric's Hollow, he was going to sleep.

X

"So…"

Harry blinked slowly, lifting the coffee to his lips.

"So uh…"

The wizard sipped from the steaming mug, eyes briefly flicking to his friend before dropping back down to the thick book resting on his lap.

Ron shifted uncomfortably from his seat. When Harry came back last night it was well beyond late and he looked like a mess. His unruly hair that was more ruffled than usual, his robes were wrinkled and disheveled, and his glasses were askew. It was as if he walked through a tornado and survived, and, being the Boy Who Lived, Ron had no doubts of that possibility. It was reasonable for Ron and Hermione to be worried. Unfortunately trying to make Harry talk about his feelings when he was dead on his feet was the wrong thing to do. After an icy glare thrown in their direction, the Boy Who Lived stormed up the stairs, brushed past an amused sorcerer, and then entered his room. Surprisingly, no doors were slammed.

"Where'd you go off to yesterday?"

Green eyes flicked to his friend again, this time lingering. His gaze dropped back to the crisp pages within the old volume. "The graveyard," he murmured absentmindedly, setting the mug onto the table and turning the page over.

Ron was able to breathe easier, relief flooding his face. An uncomfortable silence flittered through the room as realization dawned. He wanted to kick himself for being so stupid not to realize that. Or maybe kick Hermione. She was the one who was supposed to figure everything out. It was understandable that he wanted to visit his parent's grave, but why would he want to spend hours on end in front of a couple of tombstones?

"Why'd you take so long?" Ron immediately winced the moment the words left his mouth. Sometimes he wished he could just keep his mouth shut. He didn't know how it felt to lose a parent, and he certainly didn't know how it felt to lose someone close to him. When Sirius died, he felt sad and angry, angry at Sirius for leaving Harry and sad for his friend for losing the closest person he had known to be family. When Dumbledore died, he felt oddly detached. A bit of despair was festering within him, worried about the fate of the world and the burden that Harry would be forced to carry, this time without anyone to look up to. Both times he felt something, but he wasn't devastated, not like Harry. Situations such as these did not bode well with him, especially when it concerned his disaster prone friend.

Harry eyed him once again, a small humoring smile lifting up one side of his lips. "Oh, you know, got distracted; Bellatrix decided to drop by, threatened to Crucio the hell out of me." Harry shrugged, flipping yet another page of the book as his gaze drifted down again.

Ron barely managed to stop himself from choking. He had expected his friend to become angry or to ignore him, maybe shrug the question off if he was in a good mood. Perhaps Harry needed more help than they had hoped. Seamus said that the emotional trauma building up throughout the years wasn't a healthy thing, but he never said anything about a morbid sense of humor developing. Harry never joked about such things, at least, not quite so seriously at a time like this. The look blazing inside those dull emerald eyes… Ron resisted the urge to shudder. Sometimes he couldn't tell if his friend was joking or not. Considering the situation however, he had to be.

"Well, er…" The youngest male Weasley cleared his throat nervously. "That's… nice."

Harry made a small sound of agreement and turned the page.

Minutes passed in silence and the tension in the air grew beyond the point of unbearable. Ron wished Hermione would hurry up and return from the library, or for something to come by and knock him out. Hell, even the Li guy would be a welcome distraction.

"Do you mind if I use the telephone?" A deep voice Ron found irritatingly commanding sliced through the tension from the direction of the stairs.

On second thoughts, no, he was not a welcome distraction. Ron scowled, catching sight of the Asian man. Blue eyes widened the minute his brain managed to process the sorcerer's appearance. The day he arrived he was wearing a rather interesting robe, predominantly green and white. Ron chose not to question, assuming that the magical clothing of the Asian counterpart would vary from what he considered normal robes.

However, since his father was so enraptured with muggles, and Hermione was a muggleborn, and Harry grew up with muggles, it was not unusual to see them adorned with muggle clothes, simple jeans and shirts, the casual things. This however… Ron gaped staring at Syaoran's outfit. It was all black, but the most predominant thing was the long black coat. The coat itself would have been considered normal in muggle standards (or so Ron assumed) but it was the vast amounts of chains and buckles that dangled off it that made his eyes bulge. The same was with the man's boots; mid calf, black, heavy-looking and full of buckles, laces too, but that could hardly be seen behind the buckles.

And his mum thought Bill was bad! He grinned, imagining his mum's reaction to Li. As blissful as his thoughts were, the nagging presence looming over him was irritating.

Ron glared at the man who dared intrude his quiet time with Harry (as awkward as it was). Someone who dressed like that was bound to be like Lockhart; not exactly in the flair-ish-pretty-in-pink sense, but the vain-arrogant-fraud-and-hopeless sense. His attire was ridiculous, no respectable wizard would even think of touching anything the man was wearing, well… excluding Bill. Not to mention, anyone who wore all black constantly was not one to be trusted (like Snape). Ron shuddered. "What do you want?" he asked rudely.

Syaoran leveled Ron with an even stare. "Telephone."

Ron glared back, but confusion settled in. Telephone sounded familiar, but he couldn't quite remember what it was. Must be a muggle thing, he surmised. Oh wait! Right, that thing he used to call Harry before their third year at Hogwarts. Ron grumbled. That thing hurt both his throat and his ears. He didn't know why muggles liked it so much.

"Ah!" Suddenly Harry beamed brightly with cheerful grin lighting up his face. He gestured to the phone on the stand by the couch he was occupying. "Feel free Li. Don't worry about the charges." He assumed that the call would be long distance.

In Ron's opinion, Syaoran stalked into the room as if he owned the place and everything inside was beneath him. The chains rattled, and the heavy thumps he expected from the monstrous boots were amazingly light and quiet. He was not, in any way, jealous of the natural grace that Li exuded. His scowl deepened when Li gave them both a look. The Chinese man quickly set about to dialing a long series of numbers that Ron didn't bother try to see, much less remember.

"Oh." Harry closed his book, sending an apologetic look to the sorcerer. He wasn't even fazed by the man's drastic change of attire. "Sorry, I'll leave." He placed his feet onto the floor, moving to stand.

"There's no need," Syaoran said. "Not like you'd be able to understand."

Harry hesitated, and after a moment's deliberation, he stayed. He chose not to return to his previous sprawl but picked up the discarded book once again, clearly leaving the seat open for their guest to sit.

Syaoran, not one to be rude (to someone he found somewhat likable), sat down.

From across the table, Ron snorted and glared down at the many books scattered across the tabletop, trying to ignore the clinks of chains against buckles. He was surprised to see Harry's mood change so quickly with the guest's presence and felt more than a little hurt. He sulked moodily and ordered the pawn diagonally across the board one square. He switched his gaze to the black pieces, deciding what his next move should be. Yes, he liked to play chess by himself, well, no, not liked per se, he just had no other choice. Hermione was adamant about their research while Harry refused to be beaten for the umpteenth time. Ron ordered the black bishop to take the sacrificed pawn. An angry yell distracted him from his game and he jerked up to stare at the irate man. Harry stared as well.

The phone was set down onto the cradle carelessly unlike the slam that Ron had anticipated.

Syaoran inhaled, quickly running through his calming techniques. Once he was sure his temper was in check, he turned his attention towards the wizards, noting one very rude and very noticeable gape as well as one curious stare. It was obvious which one he preferred. "Mind explaining to me exactly why I am here?"

Harry smiled, "I'm not sure what Hermione's told you, but we're searching for specific Horcruxes."

Syaoran nodded, picking up a discarded book. "Which are what exactly?"

"For someone as humanly paranoid as Voldemort—" Harry gave no indication that he saw Ron noticeably cringing at the name. "—A Horcrux is a way to ensure his immortality." He stopped to think for a moment, remembering the memory he had taken from Slughorn. "It's when you split your soul into pieces and, by murder, use the damage to encase that piece into an object." As brief as the explanation was, it was as simple as he could get it. Harry doubted Syaoran would want to know every single detail.

"Any object?"

Harry nodded distractedly, his hand straying to the locket around his neck. "Can be anything really, living or not. Could even be a grain of dust, but…" Harry smiled wryly. "I don't see how that would be practical."

Syaoran made a sound of agreement. "What is the purpose of a Horcrux? Besides having a piece of his soul in say, a cup, I cannot see how he would benefit if he were to die."

"For anyone it would be a rather pointless existence." Harry chuckled dryly as the memory of Riddle's diary flashed through his mind. "But Tom is undeniably afraid of death. And since he has quite a few loyal followers, resurrecting him would be easy." A dark shadow settled over his face and he flicked to the next page of the book with more aggression than necessary. "Or he could go about possessing anyone who touched it." Ron's mood darkened while Harry shrugged. "We don't know much about them—don't know how to destroy them, much less find them."

Syaoran ignored the sudden lapse in mood. He could clearly hear the bitterness in Harry's voice, but such feelings were none of his business. The relationship he had with these people, it was strictly professional. "How many do you need to find?"

"Excluding himself, four are left. Two of which is a cup and a locket, the other two," Harry shrugged helplessly, "we have a few hunches, but that's about it."

"Hm…" Syaoran scanned the text in front of him. "I can't say much on this right now—"

The emerald eyed teen beamed, eyes sparkling. "I don't expect to have an answer within the week, or even this month. I'm just thankful for the help."

Syaoran's brow twitched at the mention of the length of time. So they thought it was that hopeless to find the Horcruxes? Syaoran lounged against the armrest. He would have to get in contact with his sources some time soon. He had a feeling this task would bring more trouble than he expected, and he couldn't afford to fail this task, not when he was a representative of his clan. However… Syaoran allowed a small smile to creep into his expression. "Very well then." He shut the book and placed it on the neat stack piled dangerously on the edge of the table. He stood and proceeded towards the stairs. He had some unpacking to do now that he had a firmer grasp of the time frame.

He spared the steaming redhead a glance and quirked a brow at the site of the wizard's futile attempt of entertaining himself with chess. He noted the white rook moving to decapitate the black knight.

_Well,_ he thought, _I've seen much stranger things, for sure._

X

"I forgot to tell you." Harry rounded into the kitchen and blinked when he saw the black clad figure whisking some eggs, the coat replaced with one of the aprons that Harry bought. "Hm, you don't have to cook dinner."

Syaoran threw a gaze over his shoulder before turning his attention back to the bowl. "I'm only here to help you track down the Horcruxes," he said simply. "I'm surprised I was given a room."

Harry sent him an admonishing look, understanding a little bit of how Mrs. Weasley felt whenever he came over. "Nonsense! You're stuck with us for an indefinite time, it's the least we could do."

The cook picked up a bottle of translucent brown liquid and poured a teaspoon of it into the bowl. "I'm assuming you want me to cook for all of you as well then?"

"Er…" Harry scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, "If you don't mind I'm not stopping you. It's a nice break from cooking every night." He watched curiously as the man walked over to the cartons of a dozen eggs on the opposite bench.

"Where'd you get everything? I don't remember having any of that in the fridge."

He felt reasonably stupid for having asked that question if the stare sent his way was any indication. "Supermarket," Syaoran answered shortly.

"Oh," Harry murmured, watching Syaoran walk over to the fridge, taking out a few packets from the freezer. "What are you making?"

"Fried rice," he said, stopping mid-motion. He raised a brow at the younger man. "Unless you want something else?"

Harry shook his head. "No, no, fried rice is fine." He lounged against the counter. "It's been a while since I've had it." Aunt Petunia had made it when he was younger but he was barely allowed some of the leftovers, mostly the burnt parts. She forced him to watch as she made it since he usually made most of their meals for them. "Do you need any help?"

The wizard shifted uncomfortably when the amber gaze landed on him again. The eyes shifted towards the right, landing on a medium sized packet of rice. "You can boil the rice, all of it."

Harry did as he asked, keeping one eye on the boiling water while intently watching Syaoran work. He could remember the basics of the recipe, but it had been a while.

"What did you forget to tell me?" Syaoran asked, breaking the comfortable silence.

"Mm?" Harry stirred the rice around in the water with a wooden spoon, preventing it from sticking to the edges of the saucepan.

"You came in here saying you forgot to tell me something."

"Eh?" Harry blinked owlishly, thinking. "Oh! Right." He beamed. "By the end of the week we'll be researching at headquarters."

"Where?" Syaoran asked.

"Hmm… number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The Fidelius Charm is being replaced so until Remus gets back we're stuck here."

Syaoran was honest enough to admit that none of that made any sense to him. The stare he sent the younger man said as much.

"The Fidelius Charm is a spell that hides a secret inside one person. For example, for us, the location of headquarters is the secret, and the Secret Keeper will be the only person to know of its location. Only the Secret Keeper can tell anyone of the location." Harry paused for his new friend to process the information. "It also prevents anyone from speaking about where the place is." Harry stirred through the boiling water, watching as the grains floated around the bubbles. "Even if you know the address you won't be able to say it and unless you're the Secret Keeper, the location will be lost to you. You could be standing in front of it and you won't be able to see it."

While listening and chopping up the bacon at the same time, Syaoran grudgingly admitted that the spell was a genius invention.

"When we get there, everyone will need to sign a piece of parchment," Harry said seriously. "It has a secrecy spell on it to prevent anyone from revealing anything that's said in the house. You'll have to sign it as well."

Syaoran shrugged indifferently, murmuring, "Not like I expect you to trust me so quickly." Harry said nothing and turned off the stove. He moved over to the sink to drain the pot. Syaoran moved towards the cupboards, searching for a reasonable-sized pan to fry the rice. He quickly found it and poured oil onto the surface. He allowed it to warm up on the stove, checking over all the ingredients.

The next half hour Harry spent watching Syaoran cook, learning shortcuts and tricks for making fried rice. Soy sauce he knew was a vital ingredient, but Harry had no idea tomato sauce could be part of the recipe as well. He chose not to question the man. He helped out where he could with what he remembered, mainly chopping up the ingredients, unable to forget his dreaded potions classes. Unfortunately, there was not much else for him to do once everything was in the pan. All that was left was mixing the ingredients thoroughly around as it heated. He was surprised that nothing was burning since the oil had long ago been absorbed into the rice. Aunt Petunia's attempt had resulted in a little less than half of the rice burning.

The front door rattled, catching Harry's attention. A second later the knob twisted to the right and the door opened. Hermione shuffled in, stumbling with a few plastic bags in her hands. Harry hurried to her side, gently taking the bags from her hands.

Hermione ran a hand through her hair and shrugged off her jacket. "The shops were closing, so I got what I could. It should last us for the week."

"We don't have to worry about cooking tonight." Harry grinned as he walked into the kitchen. "Li's almost done with dinner."

"Li?" she asked incredulously. "He can cook?" She quickly followed her friend into the kitchen.

Syaoran pierced her with a look, one that made her feel about six inches tall. Though that wasn't what had her speechless, the result was still one witch frozen on the spot in the doorway, mouth agape and eyes wide.

"Hermione?" A head of messy black hair poked out from behind the fridge door, head tilted to the side with confusion. "What's wrong?"

Brown eyes blinked, and the witch shook herself out of her shock. "Er—Nothing Harry. Let me help you there." She hurried to the fridge, avoiding looking at the amused cook.

Perhaps his sense of fashion was a bit extreme for these people. His mother was always disapproving whenever she saw him out of his training and ceremonial robes. _Ah, can't be helped,_ he thought, mixing the rice around. Even if she disapproved, there was nothing she could do to force him into the clothes she deemed appropriate (unless she decided to burn his wardrobe, fortunately for him, she was above such things), not when what he wore provided him extra protection against his enemies (something she failed to understand).

With a final flick of the wrist and a small burst of magic, the sticky rice fell from the wooden spoon. He turned off the stove and emptied the contents of the pan into a large bowl. He placed the still sizzling pan into the sink, watching as the steam rose the minute the boiling hot metal was submerged. He quickly set about to washing all of the dishes, ignoring Harry who told him to leave it for later.

Within five minutes all the dirty dishes and utensils were clean. While he was doing that, Hermione retrieved the plates and set them out onto the dining table, Harry following with spoons and a bottle of soy sauce that Syaoran had purchased.

Once the pan was set onto the drying rack, he eyed Hermione with annoyance. Sighing with exasperation, he grabbed the closest plate and replaced it with a small bowl. He opened the cutlery drawer, and wasn't surprised to find that there were no chopsticks. He refrained from sighing again and scaled the stairs. He still had the extra set of chopsticks from the box of noodles he brought with him the day before.

"Ron! Dinner's ready!" Hermione's voice called from the bottom of the stairs as he descended. He eyed her strangely, just for the sheer fact that he didn't like her thus far. He smirked with satisfaction when she flushed, an angry scowl marring her face.

_Yes, be angry. Hopefully you'll find my service so dreadfully appalling and fire me. _He snorted inwardly. Right, chances of that happening were close to nil—he heard Harry's outburst and knew that the man was still angry with his two friends. Syaoran couldn't bring himself to feel appreciative. He might have, if he were a nicer person, and his sisters would for surely be screaming with delight, claiming that bunnies were hopping around in their chest, but he wasn't remotely like them (thank the gods) and he was anything but nice, so he was safe from any (un)pleasant, fluffy feelings.

Syaoran furrowed his brows, unsure as to why he was thinking so much about trivial things. His lips twisted with disgust. Barely a few days with wizards and his mind was already starting to dysfunction. "Great," he muttered. He seated himself on the seat with the bowl and pulled the chopsticks out of the paper wrapping, snapping the wooden sticks in half. Not bothering to wait for the red haired wizard to come, he filled his bowl and proceeded to eat.

Harry followed his example, but Hermione was adamant to wait for the other male.

"Dinner smells brilliant. What'd you make Harry?" Ron quickly seated himself and filled his plate with a large amount of rice.

"Li made the fried rice," Harry said dryly, watching fondly as Ron shoveled a spoonful of rice into his mouth. When the answer registered through Ron's mind he choked, eyes bulging. Hermione quickly cast a spell, "_Anapneo_" or something like that. Ron was able to breathe easier after that, drowning himself with the glass of water that Harry conjured.

"What?" Ron exclaimed, seeing the humorless look in Harry's eyes. "It could be poisoned!" The spark ever present within the green eyes blanked out immediately and Ron knew that Harry was angry again. He winced when a foot collided with his shin and swung his gaze over to Hermione. Before he set eyes on her, Ron was locked in a gaze of bored amber from across the table. Syaoran pointedly brought the chopsticks to his lips. "Feel free not to eat it." He raised a brow challengingly and ate the rice.

Ron glared suspiciously, but seeing that Harry was eating it with no qualms, he reluctantly followed. Who was he to pass up good food, even if a git made it?

A terse silence settled over the dining room, with only the occasional clink of spoons against plates. Hermione cleared her throat. Might as well give the man a chance, she thought. Harry was a great judge of character. If he approved of him wholeheartedly, who was she to question him?

"Who taught you how to cook?"

The Chinese man looked over the rim of the bowl. Everyone's attention landed on him so he was forced to put the bowl back onto the table. It was a matter of respect (even if he held little for her). "I doubt his name would mean anything to you," he answered shortly, resuming with his meal, effectively cutting off her attempt of a civil conversation.

From listening and studying the trio, he knew she was smart enough to get the hint. Unfortunately, getting it and taking it were two different things. She knew it would get on his nerves if she continued questioning him, so she did.

"Was he a chef?"

"No."

"A teacher then?"

He paused. "Yes."

"So you learnt it at school? You took Home Economics?"

He glared, "No."

"Oh, private tutoring?"

"No." He didn't consider it private if his cousins were being taught alongside him.

"Did—"

"Look." He interrupted her with a glare before she could barrage him with more question. "I don't see how my personal life concerns your hunt for the Horcruxes. Unless the knowledge will somehow save your damn pitiful life, refrain from speaking to me."

Hermione opened her mouth to retort, feeling thoroughly insulted. Ron beat her to it. "What is your _problem_?" Ron said roughly, standing up. His voice steadily gained volume with each word and in no time, Hermione had no doubt he'd be shouting out insults. "She's trying to be nice—"

A warm hand gently rested on his forearm, squeezing reassuringly. Harry shook his head. "How about we just eat in silence? It'll be nice change from the chaos," he murmured, eyes grave.

Ron glared at Harry. "He's the one—"

"_Ron_," he said warningly.

"Fine," Ron snarled. He acquiesced, albeit reluctantly, and sat down with a heavy thump, shooting daggers at the man directly in front of him. He didn't know how long he could stand the infuriating _sorcerer_ if he didn't bother to make an effort to be civil.

Syaoran, unperturbed, finished the rice in his bowl in a matter of minutes and stood up. Ron glared at him, Hermione was wary and Harry was completely expressionless. "I never asked for you to be nice," he said. "And last time I checked, you need _my _help, so we do things on _my_ terms or this agreement is null." With a final disdainful glance directed at the couple across from him (Harry sat adjacent to him) he spun around on his heels and entered the kitchen.

Ron resumed eating, trying not to let the man get to him. Hermione chewed at her food slowly. The atmosphere was far too hostile for her to be able to enjoy the delicious meal. She glanced at Harry with concern, seeing him picking at the meager amount of rice on his plate. She sighed heavily and resigned herself for a tense and stifling dinner. Harry was still mad at them, and he had been in such a good mood earlier as well.

The dining room was quiet, so they were able to hear when the tap turned off. The flowing sound of clinking chains followed the dull thud of ceramic against plastic. A minute later, Syaoran emerged from the kitchen, apron replaced with his black coat. He brushed passed them noiselessly—an amazing feat with the heavy boots he wore—and continued towards the stairway.

Ron and Hermione exhaled noisily when he was out of sight. Most of the tension washed away with Li's departure, but it was still awkward. They could feel the burning glare from Harry and Hermione knew that the anger was blazing deeply in his eyes. She kept her eyes trained ahead, refusing to meet Harry's eyes. Ron on the other hand, was shaking with anger. He could never control his temper and always resulted in saying something that he never meant.

"You take _his_ side—"

She didn't want to hear the argument between her two closest friends.

And so she focused her gaze on the steaming bowl of rice, watching as the steam floated off the red-stained grains.

X

**Footnotes**

(1) From Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Chapter 12: The Mirror of Erised.

X

I'm a little miffed that only one person reviewed the last chapter (and consequently, the newest version of this fic since I've modified it completely). Actually, I'm somewhat insulted. Unfortunately beggars can't be choosers, and since I've managed to stuff all the negative feelings and bad thoughts into a small tiny box, I thought I'd dedicate this chapter to _AnimeObsessionFantasy_ who spared some time to give me a review.

Yes, I'm being petty, but I'm sure every author feels this way one time or another. -smiles wryly-


	4. Second eldest sister, Fanren

**Chapter Four**

_Second oldest sister, Fanren_

**By Kaori**

X

At the break of dawn, sunlight drifted through the wooden framed window, large rays darting across the room. A shaft of light danced upon the occupant's face, coloring the chestnut brown hair a light dusty grey. A dark brow twitched and a hand moved up to block out the light.

A loud rumbling emitted from the bedside table, or more specifically, the little machine moving across the surface, green light flashed rapidly.

The hand covering the face twitched, brows creasing. Another violent rumble sounded, before being cut off abruptly. The hand darted out quickly, catching the device before it hit the floor. With a grunt, Syaoran cracked open a sleep crusted eye. With his free hand, he rubbed the back of his knuckles over his eyes, blearily blinking and checking the time. "Six," he muttered. "Who the hell calls at six in the morning?"

With a stretch and a yawn, mindful of the vibrating mobile in his hand, he threw his legs to the side and stood up. Rubbing his neck to ease the tension, he eyed the flashing screen. "Ah, checking up on me are you?" Syaoran rotated his body around, satisfied to hear consecutive cracks as he realigned his vertebrae. "Can't be helped," he murmured. Fluidly, the phone was flipped open and he pressed the red button, effectively cutting off the vibrations.

With a final glance of the room, he exited. Feet bare, he padded quietly through the carpet of the wide hallway. Descending the stairs just as effortlessly, he quickly navigated his way to the living room. In no time, he was on the phone, dialing a familiar sequence onto the number pad after the necessary international code of the phone card he had memorized.

Syaoran reclined back on the couch, letting his head fall onto the cushioned backrest as he listened to the repetitive ring tone. At least it wasn't the horrible piano music he heard the other day. The person on the other line picked up.

He switched his mind frame from English to Cantonese effortlessly. "Why did you call me?"

A silent pause as he waited to hear the reply.

"Self-proclaimed," he reminded dully.

A few seconds passed.

"What makes you think I'm on a new mission?" He traced the spiraled cord of the phone lightly. A moment later he scoffed but said nothing else.

Muted, high-pitched ramblings sounded from the receiver.

"I'm not so sure, a while I assume."

A question was asked.

"Not them, my mother," he answered tightly.

The person on the other line replied.

Syaoran glared at the glass table, barely able to refrain from yelling. "When will you and your damn group get over your immaturity?"

The chipmunk voice rose a few decibels.

Syaoran breathed deeply, repressing the urge to hit something. "It's my business," he growled. "Leave it alone."

The person on the other line obviously lacked the self-control needed to keep from yelling.

"Sessions?" He laughed with disbelief. "There's nothing wrong with me!"

There was a shout.

"Her word against the Elders Meiling; who runs this clan?"

And then there was silence.

Why he bothered to call her was beyond him. She always did have the ability to give him a pounding headache.

Syaoran smirked, eyes hard. "It'll do you good to remember who I am Meiling. You don't want to suddenly find yourself disowned do you?"

"_You can't do that!"_

He jerked the phone away, wincing at the shrill volume of her voice. Syaoran gingerly returned the phone back to his ear. "I was under the impression that I was clan leader."

She shouted something but he cut her off. "The elders would have been lenient, yes, but you've been gone for the past ten years with barely a word," he bit out venomously. "Give me a reason not to!"

At least she had the decency to stop screaming.

"Oh right, I forgot about your tendency to leech off clan resources."

"_I do not leech!"_

"When will you ever leave me alone?"

"_YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND."_

A dull beep echoed from the earpiece. His brow ticked noticeably and he glared at the phone before setting it down back in its cradle. "That idiot," he muttered in English, sick of his mother language after speaking with his cousin. Not like English was any better, in fact, he found Japanese more likable than English, and he hated the Japanese language.

"Here."

He blinked with surprise at the steaming mug of coffee. He's gaze drifted up to the sleepy face of the only wizard he found tolerable in the house.

"I'm not sure how you like it, but you look like you need it."

Syaoran accepted, murmuring a small "thanks". Harry smiled and sat down next to him, drinking from his own brew. Syaoran stared at the hot brown liquid with suspicion. He dipped the tip of his finger inside and swirled it around, ignoring the look Harry gave him. He released a pulse of magic and green rings of light rippled from his finger to the edge.

"Did I wake you?" he asked, retrieving his finger from the drink and licking off the beads of coffee. At least nothing suspicious was added to the drink.

"No, I tend to wake up early." Harry absentmindedly rubbed his forehead, wincing. "Who's got you so agitated so early in the morning?"

Syaoran studied the mild teen, not quite understanding how his mind worked. He was sure that his message was pretty clear last night.

"My… cousin," he answered hesitantly.

Harry winced in understanding. "That bad?"

Syaoran folded an arm across his torso, resting the one holding the cup on it. He ran his thumb across the ceramic, unaffected by the heat. "Hm."

Harry was unsure of what that meant, but decided not to pry. He always hated people intruding in his personal life and he wasn't about to become a hypocrite.

They lapsed into another comfortable silence, both content drinking their coffee as the morning light streamed in through the wide windows.

"Do you have anything planned for today?"

Amber eyes locked with emeralds, jaws taut. "You don't give up do you?"

"Nope," he chirped cheerfully. "You're helping us, and frankly, I'd like to be able to trust who's helping me with the Horcruxes." Eyes became downcast and he stared at the swirling liquid. "No one else besides us knows. Voldemort doesn't even know what I'm up to and I'd like to keep it that way." The teen's hands clenched and unclenched around the cup, knuckles turning white. Behind long black bangs, Syaoran saw the emeralds contemplating something and having difficulty deciding. Hesitantly he made eye contact with Syaoran. "I… I placed a secrecy charm on you the minute you came. I hope you don't mind, but I can't afford him finding out."

"What?" Before he could blink, Syaoran had him pinned against the armrest, holding his upper arms in a painfully tight grip. Harry gasped with pain as the burning coffee splashed onto them both; the other man was unaffected. Syaoran's eyes narrowed as he regarded the younger man. "Without my permission?" he asked, tightening his grip on the wizard. "You placed a _spell _on me without my permission?"

"Would you have agreed to it otherwise?" Harry shouted, struggling with the vice like hold keeping him down.

"I agreed to sign the damn parchment, what makes this different?"

"Exactly! What's so different about it?" Harry glared at him and stopped struggling. "You agreed to sign the parchment, so why are you so worked up about this?"

"The fact that you didn't ask me—"

"You were a bloody stranger then! How was I to know you could be trusted with knowledge of the Horcruxes?" Swiftly Harry lunged forward and pushed the man back, trying to get his arms free. Syaoran, surprised at the unexpected assault, was knocked backwards. Instincts overrode his mind and he twisted over and off the couch, dragging the wizard with him. Harry landed on his back with a cry, giving Syaoran enough time to reestablish his grip. He had Harry's hips pinned down with his knees and his forearms held on either side of his head.

The sorcerer's death glare was reflected evenly by the wizard, green eyes blazing dangerously.

They remained in that position for a long time, both too stubborn and neither willing to give up the glaring contest; it was a matter of pride.

A polite cough sliced through the chilly room, drawing the attention of both men. In the doorway stood a blushing Hermione dressed casually in a simple shirt and jeans. "If I'm interrupting something…" she trailed off, looking pointedly at them, or more specifically, their position.

For the first time, Harry noticed that Syaoran wasn't wearing a shirt; the Boy Who Lived blushed deeply, the flush almost rivaling Ron's infamously red face. "Hermione!" He cried, scandalized, "It's not like that!" He writhed beneath the sorcerer, frantic to be freed of the position. Syaoran stood up almost instantly and, for reasons unknown to him, held out a hand for young man. Harry grabbed his forearm, allowing him to pull him up. Unfortunately, Syaoran miscalculated. Harry was a lot lighter than he assumed and the force he exerted was a bit excessive. Harry stumbled clumsily into the Chinese man. Immediately his blush darkened and he leaped away, babbling apologies.

"I'm going to go take a shower," he mumbled, running towards the stairs.

Hermione laughed lightly. Harry was always too endearing for his own good. As he ran past her, she noticed that his white sleeping shirt was stained brown. Confused, she looked at the stoic sorcerer and saw two abandoned mugs tipped over on the floor. Her brows shot up as she watched the man curiously. Syaoran returned it with a glare. Hermione brushed it off (a few days facing that glare had made her, for the most part, immune) and pulled out her wand.

"Nice tattoo," she commented as she aimed a scouring charm towards the floor and, after a moment's deliberation, whispered "_Tergeo_" towards the glaring man who's whole demeanor screamed "Mind your own business!" Syaoran was surprised when the sticky coffee was wiped clean off his body. He diffidently thanked the witch and ignored her smug smile. Falling back into his previous seat, he picked up the phone again. After checking the clock to see that it was just past seven, he dialed a short sequence into the number pad.

Hermione, seeing that she had been dismissed, left with a huff towards the kitchen to start with the breakfast.

Syaoran sighed when she was gone; he always valued his solitude, it was when he was able to think most clearly. He tightened his fist and listened to the dialing tone patiently. All of a sudden he heard static. With a wince, he pulled the phone away from his ear at the loud sound. A second later he heard silence. He blinked with confusion and set the receiver down in the cradle. A second later he picked it up and heard the familiar beep. Frowning, he dialed the number again and waited cautiously. He quickly set the phone down when he heard the beginnings of the earsplitting crackling.

"It won't work right now." A freshly dressed, slightly dripping, and clean Harry sat down opposite from him. "Magic interferes with the flow of electricity. Hermione used magic before right?"

Syaoran regarded him through half lidded eyes cautiously. Not wanting to deal with his emotions quite this early in the morning, Syaoran left the room, heading towards his bedroom. He was thankful that Harry had enough sense not to stop him.

In his room he relaxed his fist, quickly running through his calming exercises. The reason he had attacked the wizard… Syaoran smiled wryly. It had been a while since he had been caught unaware with magic. The fact that Harry was able to cast a spell on him without his knowledge unsettled him. He prided himself in being able to sense the most sensitive of magics. He could sense the thick barriers layering the house and felt the light touch of the cleaning charm that Hermione had cast feathering across his skin; heck, he could feel magic buzzing around the damn house. And yet he missed it when a simple boy had cast a secrecy charm on him.

Either it was because a secrecy charm had something that concealed its presence or he had underestimated Harry.

Even now with the knowledge of the spell on him, he couldn't feel it, couldn't sense it and couldn't root it out of his system because he couldn't feel anything out of the ordinary.

Perhaps it was time he reevaluated the magic of the wizards. That or his unfounded theory that green was powerful was true after all.

Once changed into his usual outfit, he pocketed his phone and wallet, slipped on his boots and tightened the laces and clasps. He headed back down the stairs, pushing the earlier incident from his mind to contemplate another issue. Harry said that magic interfered with the flow of electricity. He wasn't quite sure why, not when sorcery was complemented by it, but wasn't about to think too deeply on it. He shrouded his cell phone with his magic and flipped it open, punching in the same sequence for the third time that day.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the person on the other line picked up. Syaoran smiled, pleased. At least something was going right for once.

"It's Xiao Lang. I'll be dropping by London shortly." He chuckled at what the other person said. "You're right. So I'll be seeing you in a few hours, the most?" He glanced at a nearby clock. "It's late enough. If it's not open when I get there I'll break in."

A light admonish made him laugh again. "I'll be seeing you then." After hearing the reply, he pocketed his phone and walked to the front entrance.

Harry intercepted him before he could reach for the knob. "You're going to London?"

He sighed heavily. It was obvious that Harry had erased the incident from his mind and was being his usual persistent self. "Yes," Syaoran said curtly, still more than a little miffed about the spell.

"It's hours away from Godric's Hollow."

"I'm aware of that."

"Would you mind waiting? I'm heading there later as well."

Syaoran opened his mouth to decline but caught sight of hopeful green eyes. He cursed inwardly. _There's definitely something about green, _he thought moodily. "Fine."

Harry smiled appreciatively and grabbed hold of Syaoran's arm, dragging him into the kitchen. It took all his will not to yank his arm away by instinct. _Manners_, he thought firmly. _Must be polite, even if it kills me._ "I don't believe you've ever heard of Flooing have you?"

"No."

Harry grinned. "It's a form of magical transportation; a much faster way to travel."

X

"Magical indeed," Syaoran muttered bitterly. Simply not prepared after the fireplace had spat him out, he fell forward into Harry's back, knocking the young man over. They both tumbled ungracefully towards the floor in a heap. Harry cried out, catching himself with his hands; that unfortunately was little help when Syaoran's heavy weight knocked him over. Harry groaned. "That's twice you've landed on me."

"Third," corrected Syaoran as he rolled swiftly to his feet. He dusted off his clothes, making a face at the soot covering his hands. When Harry suggested Flooing, Syaoran had no idea it consisted of traveling fireplace to fireplace. At first he was dubious about walking into the fire. He realized that wizarding methods were a little crazier than the norm, but walking into a _fire_? A _green_ fire? He had questioned Harry if the Floo powder was magically enhanced copper(1). He received a blank stare.

As much as he loved green, he didn't believe in coincidences. And so he concluded that there definitely had to be something about green. Like seven was the magical number, green had to be the magical color.

After depositing a number of silver coins into the tin hanging by the fireplace, Harry cast a cleaning charm on them both, getting rid of all the dirt and grime from traveling by the Floo Network. "I just need to go to Gringotts Li, after that we can go wherever you want." Syaoran was about to protest when Harry dragged him along, waving at the old man behind the bar as he quickly headed towards the backyard (to which Syaoran commented sarcastically). After a few taps on the bricks, the archway to Diagon Alley opened in the wall.

By the time they returned to the Leaky Cauldron just over an hour had passed. Syaoran, as much as he claimed to disregard wizards, wanted to memorize the route of the street and familiarize himself with the shops—it could prove to be beneficial in the future—and Harry had given him a brief tour of Diagon Alley. After seeing the main shops on display, Syaoran quickly grew bored and they went back to Muggle London.

From Charing Cross Road, Syaoran had to rotate around, looking up at the skyscrapers in order to figure out which way to go. The walk to the London Underground was short, and two tickets, and two stops later, they were at the heart of the City of London. Harry's neck hurt because he was staring up at the tallest skyscraper in London from the entrance. (2)

To say Harry was curious was an understatement. "Tower Forty-Two?" He turned his head to the right and blinked when he saw nothing but air. Syaoran had already entered the building. "Hey wait!" He sprinted through the automatic rotating doors (3) and only barely made it past the elevator doors before it closed. He glared at Syaoran. "You could've held it open for me." He muttered something rude under his breath when he saw the sorcerer's brow rise.

Minutes later a twinkling ding sounded and the doors opened to floor thirty-nine. Syaoran confidently strode through the building, catching the stares of the employees. Harry followed meekly, blushing as he passed a few gossiping workers. He could understand why they would stare, after all, a tall man dressed suspiciously in black with chains dangling off the flowing coat with a scruffy short teen garbed in old and tattered hand-me-downs; they made the most unlikely pair.

Syaoran walked through twisted hallways, passing random offices, turning left and right until he reached a room with more glassy doors. He headed towards the largest one, directly beside the door with a plated rectangular marker, the words _Director _displayed in thick bold letters. He briskly walked towards the desk on the left, Harry stumbling in after him as he tried to rid himself of the dizziness.

At the desk was a man with a haughty expression, studying them over rimless glasses. He twirled the fountain pen around his fingers. "How may I help you?" he asked politely.

"The director," Syaoran said evenly.

The man's hand covered the mouse, clicking through several programs as he brought forward the director's timetable. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No, but she's expecting me."

"Is she now?" The secretary narrowed his eyes and regarded the computer monitor. "Is your name Vernon Dursley?"

Harry choked on his breath from behind Syaoran. _Vernon?_ Harry was sure that this wasn't Grunnings, or anywhere near it. He hadn't even seen a single thing related to drills as he nearly almost ran after the sorcerer (Syaoran was well over a foot taller than him and hand longer strides). Harry took a few tentative steps towards the desk, mindful of the secretary's sharp glance, and picked up the business card residing in the card holder. _Li LLP _(4) Harry furrowed his eyes and turned the card over, scanning quickly through the words. A law firm? Well that made sense; unfortunately he was feeling a bit edgy. Why would Vernon be desperate enough to go to a law firm in London when there were quite a few in Surrey?

Meanwhile, Syaoran narrowed his eyes. "No."

"Then I'm afraid you'll have to make an appointment. The next time available is three in the afternoon."

Syaoran glared. "I would like to see her now."

The secretary quivered slightly under the hard stare but glared right back. "Name?"

"Li."

The secretary's lip curled back and he said mockingly. "Really? Li is it?" He sat back, crossing his arms across his chest. "Well then _Mr. Li_, the director is a busy person and appointments are made for a reas—HEY! What are you doing?"

Harry was close to gawking when the Chinese man leant over the desk, pressing the intercom button on the phone. "Fanren, get out here now!" They heard a thud from the speaker and then the door bearing the _Director _plate slammed open shocking Harry back a few steps. Something green and brown blurred past him and landed on his companion. A few seconds were needed for his mind to register the blur to be a woman, more specifically, the director (who defied Harry's stereotype of lawyers). She had her arms around Syaoran's neck and was squealing with excitement, "Little Brother!"

Syaoran, disgruntled, quickly disentangled her from him and growled, "Why didn't you tell your damn secretary ("Hey!" The man at the desk stood up, slamming his hands against the desk.) I was coming?"

The girl with a jagged-style bob cut and a rattail (Harry mentally stabbed at the reminder of the traitorous rat) that reached past the middle of her back grinned impishly. "Aw, the big bad wolf can't handle the poor little secretary?" She sniggered, but for the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out what was so funny.

"Come, come," she said after a cough. "Let's leave my cute little secretary alone with his work. My office is much cozier!" She ushered him into her office rather forcefully and Harry followed hesitantly, closing the door gently. Turning so his back faced the door, Harry watched as the lawyer literally shoved Syaoran onto the large leather sofa. Harry cleared his throat awkwardly; she seemed rather oblivious to his presence.

The woman turned towards the sound and caught site of him. Her eyes brightened and the large smile stretched across her lips made him nervous.

"Oh Little Brother," she cooed sweetly. "Why didn't _you _tell _me_ that you had such an ADORABLE little kid with you?" Said adorable little kid winced at the shrill level her voice reached with the word 'adorable'. Before he could even think of glowering at being called an "adorable little kid", a piercing squeal sounded and he found himself being suffocated in a tight hug. Fanren rubbed her cheek against his and disjointed words mixed with squeals were the only sounds he registered.

"Ack!" he gasped, clawing at her arms. And he thought Hermione was bad…

What the hell was wrong with this lady? It wasn't normal for women to act this way. He was sure that she didn't know who he _really _was, so there was absolutely no reason for her to fawn over him. Absolutely none.

"Fanren," Syaoran called from the sofa. "Act your age."

Fanren stopped squealing and her grip relaxed, much to Harry's relief (he greedily inhaled a hefty amount of air). She shifted to the side so that she hung off he's side, bumping the side of her head with his so she that Syaoran was in her line of view. "_You_ act your age!" She stuck her tongue out.

Syaoran scoffed.

The suit-clad woman grinned and then pulled at Harry's cheeks. "And what's your name little boy?"

Harry was offended to hear her talking like Aunt Petunia did with Dudley; the damn baby talk was unbearable. He glared at her from the corner of his eyes. He didn't like being touched by strangers, especially crazy ones who thought he was a poor helpless kid (he could see it in her eyes). "I'm not a little boy," he hissed angrily.

Fanren pulled back, surprised. A slow humoring smile spread across her lips. "Well, you can't be older than fourteen, maybe fifteen the most. Xiao Lang, what do you think?"

Harry squirmed uncomfortably when the amber eyes landed on him. "I think you should stop harassing the _poor kid_." His lips quirked into a knowing smirk.

Harry understood that he didn't look his age (he was the shortest in his year including the girls) and hardly had any skin on his bones (something he blamed on the Dursley's). That was why he tolerated it when people mistook his age, even found their reactions funny when they discovered his true age. _This_ however… It was downright **_rude_**. He had been treated as if he was too young to understand anything by too many people already—Dumbledore for example—and even then he was able to take it all in stride (to some extent) after being allowed time to cool down. _However_, to speak about him when he was _standing right next to them_…

He roughly pulled away from the woman's arms, breathing heavily as emerald eyes flashed. "I am _still here_ you know! My name is Harry and I am _not_ a _bloody kid_! I'm seventeen for Merlin's sake!"

The room lapsed into silence and Syaoran's brow lifted up a fraction. He could practically hear the thoughts running through their head. In his peripheral vision he saw long lashes rise and fall repeatedly as the girl blinked owlishly. He winced, knowing that he had let his temper get the better of him yet again.

And of all the things he had expected, what happened was anything but. Fanren squealed and tackled him (again). Harry, unsuspecting of the attack, stumbled back and lost his balance. He moaned when his already aching back connected with the ground for the third time that day. He cursed the thick carpet for not being a better insulator from the hard floorboards beneath. What was it with Lis and knocking him to the ground? Honestly!

"Kyaa! He really is adorable! Xiao Lang, wherever did you find him?" Fanren gushed, yet again rubbing her cheek with his. Harry sighed heavily, resigning himself to the fate of being ignored and thought of as a bloody mindless child. Life probably would be much easier if he played the puppet.

Or if all of the insane people in the world were locked up in a place far, far away from him.

_Wishful thinking_, Harry dismissed.

"Fanren, that's enough," Syaoran said, voice steely.

And the harassment stopped, surprisingly.

Fanren sat back, lips pouting and eyes large. "But Xiao Lang!" she whined.

The glare stopped her whining and she rolled her eyes, crawling to sit next to the fallen boy, legs crossed. She sniffed tearfully. "Fine, ruin my fun." She sighed wistfully. "It's not the same without the others. I feel so old by myself."

Syaoran scoffed and Harry struggled to sit up properly. His back tensed when he saw hazel eyes watching him. Fanren smiled cheerfully, holding out her hand. Harry flinched back, almost expecting to be attacked once more. "Harry," she sung, beaming. "Such cute name! I'm Fanren, as you've gathered, that big grouchy wolf's older sister." Harry blinked questioningly. Part of him was astonished (and thankful) that there was no more squealing, another part flabbergasted that Syaoran was related to someone who was his polar opposite. That explains where all the happy genes went, he thought fleetingly. He reluctantly took her hand and was stunned when she shook his hand firmly (a part of him predicted a mad, enthusiastic shake).

Fanren laughed. "That," she said, referring to her 'attack', "dear Harry, was the customary Li greeting for everything adorable."

He was unconvinced. Li (that is, the menacing man lounging on the sofa who seemed to despise anyone using his first name) hugging and squealing people who were 'adorable' was inconceivable.

Fanren grinned knowingly, seeing the skeptical look in his eyes. "I meant my sisters and me, not that big grump over there."

Li having more than one sister, that was… not something he could picture. "Sisters?"

Fanren nodded energetically. "There's four of us, and then last (and definitely least) is our dear little baby brother, Xiao Lang (never could appreciate the cute things in life, a shame)." She was unfazed when Syaoran's glare reached murderous levels and brushed it off.

Thus Harry concluded that there was something very wrong with the Li genetic makeup; perhaps it was the inbreeding (if the Lis were pureblooded fanatics like the Malfoys), or Li had one too many blows on the head as a child (he did seem to be the odd one out; reminded him of Ginny and the Weasley family, not personality wise), or the sisters had an unhealthy obsession with sugar, or… well, the possibilities were endless. He smiled blandly.

The elder Li made her way to her brother and sat down next to him with a bounce. Harry was comfortable where he was and told them so when Fanren insisted he join them.

"So what business does Little Brother have with cute little Harry?"

Harry knocked his head with his palm (there were no hard surfaces within reaching distance), brows twitching with annoyance. He wanted to hex her but knew it'd be useless (she'd probably still keep addressing him as such).

Syaoran appeared unaffected. "I need a car, or a bike, whatever you have."

Fanren drew away from her brother, pouting, "Ehh, is that all I am to you?" She flung her rattail over her shoulder, of which Harry was slowly becoming accustomed to. The long strands of hair looked nothing like the traitor's wormlike tail. "I haven't seen you since New Years and now you come to me because you need transportation!" She whacked her younger brother across the back of the head.

Harry stifled his laughter with a violent coughing fit the second he was pinned with a murderous glare. "Really, you're almost as bad as _her,_" Fanren said, voice a strange mix between scorn and teasing.

This "_her" _person obviously wasn't liked among the siblings. Syaoran stonily stared at the wall behind Harry's head, other than that he had no indication whether or not the man was offended.

"Which is why—" The brunette lunged forward, wrapping arms around broad shoulders. "—you are staying till dinner!"

"And your appointments for the day?" Syaoran asked indifferently.

Fanren waved a hand dismissively. "They can be postponed, no one important today."

"I should hope not," Syaoran said lightly, small sparks lighting up his eyes.

The woman laughed, swatting him on the arm. "Oh don't let that overgrown ego of yours burst Little Brother, you're not _that_ important."

Harry, certain that he was not the topic of discussion anymore, averted his attention elsewhere to allow the siblings some private time (as private as it could get with a near stranger in the same room within listening distance). His interest with their conversation was waning significantly the moment his eyes met that of the crystal dragon, burning emeralds gleaming from the diamond like body. Mesmerized, he edged closer towards the quaffle sized figurine, sneakers squeaking lightly when carpet changed to floorboards. He ghosted his fingers across the seemingly randomly-placed pieces of gold scales reverently.

Harry, while not fond of them like Hagrid, did have a soft spot for dragons. From when he was in primary school, reading fairytales and myths from the books of the school library, to when Hagrid's egg hatched a tiny Norwegian Ridgeback, Norbert, to his first task in the Triwizard Tournament (though that wasn't quite as pleasant as the first two). During all those times (plus the books he had for Defense) he had never seen a long and coiling dragon like the one before him. That night with the Trackers he thought he had seen one in the flash of lightning, but his hallucinations didn't count for much.

From the dragon model Harry saw of the Chinese Fireball Viktor Krum battled, it was definitely not long winding like a snake.

Unconsciously tracing his fingers down the creature's back, he wondered if these people knew that dragons were a reality. The miniature dragon's long body was artfully twisted and coiled around a snitch-sized crystal ball in the center of the elegant oak stand. The small ball appeared to be floating within the dragon's claws and, after closer inspection, it turned out that he wasn't seeing things. It—

A high-pitched beep emitted from the intercom on Fanren's desk. "Director, Mr. Vernon Dursley from Grunnings is here to see you."

Harry's widened. He had forgotten that Vernon had an appointment with the law firm.

Fanren sighed, making her way to her desk to answer the call. "I'll see what I can do with clearing up the day."

"Grunnings?" Syaoran asked curiously.

"It's a drill company," Harry offered nonchalantly, running his finger along the dragon's claws. "Uncle Vernon is the director. I think."

"You think?" Fanren questioned, tearing her gaze from her computer screen while Syaoran threw a glance in his direction. "Never heard of it," he said.

Harry shrugged, face blank. "Didn't expect you to."

"Well, alright then!" Fanren beamed and pressed the intercom button. "Send him in my adorable little secretary!"

The secretary grumbled something in reply but Harry was staring wide eyed at the woman, something akin to horror washing over his face. "What? Didn't you say you were going to clear your day?"

Fanren grinned brightly. "He's you're uncle! I can make exceptions for adorable little Harry."

He spluttered speechlessly, mouth mimicking that of a fish. It was too late. The office door had opened already and in came the large bulging figure of his uncle, the man he swore never to meet again even if his life depended on it.

Fanren gave the large, beefy man a friendly smile, to which he sneered after taking in her appearance. Vernon turned towards Syaoran and, while he was not too please with he's choice of clothing either, smiled widely, if not a bit too wide.

"Director—" Syaoran opened his mouth to interrupt but the man waved his heavy arm around. "Oh no, not to worry, I'm sure the delay was unintentional, I completely understand."

_Well,_ Harry thought sarcastically, _his eyes are probably too small to see me in this corner anyway. _He rolled his eyes as the man continued speaking, not giving Syaoran or Fanren the chance to interrupt. From their facial expressions, Syaoran was annoyed and Fanren slightly miffed. Vernon also didn't appear willing to shut up any time soon either. Harry sighed dejectedly. _It can't be helped_, he thought, readying himself for the mental abuse.

"Uncle Vernon," he called loudly.

The man froze and shot around quickly (he was unable to turn his head, he barely had any neck). Harry noticed a vein throbbing dangerously in his temple, his beady eyes bulging from his purpling face. His fists shook and he advanced on Harry, his heavy weight stomping across the thick carpet leaving heavy imprints of his black polished shoes. When he was within reaching distance, his shoes clicked against the wooden floorboards, echoing off the walls. Harry stood his ground, glaring stubbornly.

"Boy!" he roared as loudly as he dared, aware of the other people in the large room. He grabbed onto Harry's arms, the same place that Syaoran had earlier, forcing him to back up against the podium. The dragon statue, shaking with the force, became unbalanced and slipped off the dais. It shattered into millions of pieces against the wood. "What are you doing here _freak_?" Vernon snarled, breathing heavily on his nephew. He was too angry to notice the broken shards of glass and squeezed his bulky hands.

Harry turned his face to the side, struggling to free his arms from his uncle's bruising grip. "Let go of me!" he shouted.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded again, shaking the boy violently.

Harry, knowing that Vernon wouldn't even hear what his excuse was, yelled, "You were speaking to the wrong person! _She's_ (He indicated towards Fanren, who stared at them incredulously.) the director!"

Vernon glowered angrily. "You nasty little liar, you—"

"As a matter of fact, Harry is correct," Fanren said icily from her desk, voice freezing them both on the spot. Harry had no more doubts that Li and Fanren were siblings. The resemblance was astonishing. "I am the director of this firm and I believe you just destroyed my expensive statue."

Vernon's moustache bristled with both anger and embarrassment. He quickly released his hold on his nephew. Harry, surprised at the sudden loss of support, slipped backwards and fell onto the glass. He bit his lip, trying not to cry out as the shards dug into his thin clothes.

Vernon, unconcerned, smiled weakly at the Director, a large part of him still hopeful that he could restore his first impression. His large body hid the podium and Harry from view. "I'm terribly sorry," he said, voice regretful. "You see, my nephew, the poor boy, terribly clumsy and—"

"I am a lawyer Mr. Dursley. I can tell when someone is lying."

Vernon blanched, tiny eyes filled with panic. "Why I never!" he gasped with indignation, his great face purple. "How _dare_ you—"

"I would like you to leave, Mr. Dursley."

He didn't move.

"I won't ask you again Mr. Dursley. It would be a shame if all I could talk about with my lawyer friends was this dreadful incident. I have quite a few, especially at Clifford Chance." (5)

Not sparing a second, Vernon sprinted out of the office as fast as his great beefy body would allow. Harry was too pained to laugh and sighed pitifully instead. Yet another instance where he could've enjoyed laughing crazily and he was in yet another position that didn't allow for it.

Quickly, Fanren ran to his side and pulled him to his feet, apologizing profusely when he flinched.

"I'm sorry," Harry mumbled then bit his tongue when Fanren gently brushed away the glass in his back.

"You're sorry?" Fanren stared at him with disbelief. "Whatever for?"

"I broke the statue."

Fanren scoffed and ruffled his already messy hair. "Silly boy, that… _man_ broke it." She pushed him away from the mess and towards Syaoran, sitting him down onto the sofa, his back to her. Harry's knees knocked against Syaoran's legs and he was forced to stare at the calm man. His eyes were closed and he appeared to be dozing off, head resting against the sofa's backrest.

"But…"

"You're so adorable Harry. I'd hug you right now, but I'm afraid you still have some glass stuck in your back." She lifted his shirt, studying his bare back. Harry yelped at the sudden burst of cold air.

"Hey!"

"What?" she replied with the same tone, laughing. "Take off your shirt."

"What?" his head whipped around, staring at her.

"You heard me, unless you want me to leave the shards in there. I can't guarantee it'll be pleasant."

"I'm not taking off my shirt," he said stubbornly, turning his face away from her.

He didn't see her sly smirk. "Don't worry, Harry, nothing I haven't seen before, right Little Brother?"

Syaoran opened his eyes and glared.

"Besides, I like my guys with a little more muscle than you kid."

He flushed red and opened his mouth to retort. The sentence was muffled as she pulled the back of his tattered shirt over his face. He shouted something as she laughed.

"You're the one who didn't want to take off your shirt," she said. Fanren grimaced when she saw his back. "Some of them are a little deep. Wait here, I need to go get some antiseptic. And tweezers."

He sat there sulking, staring through the worn shirt fibers, trying to make out Li's form. Moments later, Fanren bounded back, bottles, tweezers and cotton balls in hand.

Harry winced throughout the process of her pulling the tiny shards out of his back. He asked a question, hoping to distract himself. "What was Uncle Vernon doing here?" He yelped when she practically yanked out a piece of glass.

Fanren remained silent, working carefully with the tweezers. She knew that there was no love lost between uncle and nephew and was saddened; someone as adorable as Harry obviously abused by his uncle (she had the man's file and knew that Harry was raised by him). "He's being sued for negligence and embezzlement," she answered. "He decided not to waste money on fixing up the workplace and a shelf collapsed on a worker, thought that he could take the money for himself." She shook her head, not at all sorry for the man. "Word's already gotten around though; hardly anyone's willing to work for him." Harry chuckled lightly, mindful of his back. They lapsed into a tense silence with Harry cringing from time to time.

Suddenly he yelped when his cuts felt like they were on fire. "You could've given me some warning!" he cried accusingly.

Fanren quickly dabbed the soaking cotton ball across his skin, laughing. "Such a baby."

Harry screwed his eyes shut, his whimpers inciting another laugh. She asked something in Cantonese, to which Syaoran answered. Fanren beamed. "Great! Now hold still Harry."

He rolled his eyes, biting his tongue to stop from saying something sarcastic. Feather soft touches ran along his back, her fingers he realized. Seconds later a warm tingling feeling crawled down his spine as she traced over each cut. Harry marveled at the pleasant warmth; whatever she was doing was working in stopping the stinging ache.

And then a hard slap on the back had him tumbling forward into Li's lap. He shot up again, turning to glare at the giggling lawyer but realized that his shirt was still over his head. He pulled it back down, still glaring.

"Sorry, I couldn't resist!" She leaned forward, warm palms holding his face. He blinked with confusion. Instantly Fanren pulled his cheeks, squealing. "You're just so cute!"

She was back to treating him like a kid again, Harry deadpanned. He swatted at her hands, trying to get her to release his sore cheeks.

"You need more skin on you!" she had said once he was on the opposite side of the room, far away from her. This resulted in a game of tag, to which Syaoran pinned a glare on his sister the moment she tagged him. Pouting, she raced after Harry, laughing as he streaked out of the office.

And so the rest of the day was spent having lunch, being dragged around shops for new clothes (complements of Fanren), playing games at the nearest entertainment zone (Syaoran flatly refused to partake but ended up playing anyway) and finally, dinner with ice cream for desert. When they returned to her house (via limousine), Fanren handed over the keys of a "spare sports car." It was only when Syaoran backed out of the driveway did Harry realize his back was completely healed.

He watched as Fanren waved enthusiastically from the doorway, soothing warmth spreading through his chest. He waved back, a genuine smile stretching across his lips.

For the entire day his thoughts barely lingered upon the topic starting with the letter H and, for the first time in his life, he felt like he had a caring older sister.

And it was in that moment that Harry he felt his resolve strengthening.

Even if it killed him, he'd destroy Voldemort, if not for himself, then for the ones he loved.

X

**Footnotes**

(1) A flame will turn emerald green when **copper(II) (non-halide)** is sprayed onto it. To find out more, search "Flame Test" in a search engine or in Wikipedia.

(2) The tallest skyscraper in London is **Tower 42**.

(3) Having not found a decent image or been to London, I am only guessing that Tower 42 has **automatic rotating doors**.

(4) **LLP** stands for limited liability partnership. For more information, search for it in Wikipedia.

(5) Its main office found at Canary Wharf in London, **Clifford Chance LLP** is the world's largest law firm by people and by revenue. For more information, search for it in Wikipedia.

X

I can't seem to get Harry's character right. Had to rewrite this chapter over so many times and I'm still not happy with it. Better than nothing though.

After this chapter, updates won't be as fast as it has been this month, it'll be sporadic at best. School's back again and I won't have as much time to focus on writing. I'll try my best though.

Glomps to everyone who reviewed! I really appreciate it! –beams-


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